


Sassenach

by BlackSlytherin



Category: One Direction (Band), Outlander (TV)
Genre: Alpha Harry, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst, British Louis, But it's not That Simple, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Gaelic Language, Harry has a price on his head, Harry loves horses, Inverness, It's basically the Outlander plot, Louis is a war nurse, Louis touches weird stones and finds himself in the 18th century, M/M, Minor Character Death, Omega Louis, Outlander AU, Scotland, Slow Burn, Time Travel, World War II, scottish harry, they fall in love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:20:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 32,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23671471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackSlytherin/pseuds/BlackSlytherin
Summary: Louis knows many things.He knows the war is over. He knows he has to slip back into his omega role, polite and decent. He knows the pain is hard to forget, still. He knows Inverness, in Scotland, is quiet enough to forget for a few days. He knows everything can be explained with facts and logic. He knows waking up in 1945 and falling asleep in 1743 is not logic.But it’s 1743, and there are English soldiers who want him, and Scottish men who keep him. There are wary eyes on him when he speaks, when he walks, when he breathes.There are slightly softer eyes who watch him, bright and green.There is Harry Styles, who doesn’t understand Louis. But somehow, he still trusts him.______Or the Outlander AU where Louis accidentally finds himself in 18th century Scotland, Harry has a price on his head, and they're bound to fall in love.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Nick Grimshaw/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 36
Kudos: 64





	1. I'll be gone too long from you

_People disappear all the time._

_Young boys run away from home._

_Women get into a car and never get out of it._

_Children stray from their parents and are never seen again._

_Most are found eventually. Too late, just on time. Dead or alive. But they are found._

_Disappearances, after all, have explanations._

* * *

**_Inverness, 1945._ **

People didn’t disappear in Inverness. In fact, nothing really seemed to happen in Inverness, and that was maybe the reason why Louis took an instant liking to it, the second he and Nick got out of the train. It was calm, almost as if the horrors of the war didn’t quite reach that part of Scotland, with its paved roads and brick houses and charming people. It was comforting.

They both needed the comfort, although none of them dared to voice it. But Louis knew that they had scars that needed to heal, away from England where everyone was either mourning a lost one or screaming their happiness. Louis had heard enough screams and mourned long enough, and although the wounds in his heart were still open from the days spent in the trenches, hands shaking and soul agonizing from all the pain he couldn’t heal, he wanted to forget.

Nick’s hand found his own under the covers and he squeezed it lightly, as if he felt the turmoil going inside Louis’ head. Louis was really grateful for him, grateful beyond words. He wasn’t quite sure he deserved him, not when Nick had always been so caring, so gentle, holding him when the nightmares became too much to handle, never demanding, always giving, while Louis himself sometimes didn’t have the energy to do more than receive.

He still remembered when he first started taking suppressants, a little more than five years ago. He had received his letter a week after Nick did ; they were called to the front. He had been certain, at the time, that he wouldn’t survive it, not when he couldn’t even stand up to alphas, not when he could go into heat at any time on the field. It was a suicide mission, and Nick understood it just as much.

They got married that same week, and it was the last time Louis had felt pure happiness in his life. They were so young then. Nick had just gotten a teaching position in London, and Louis was onto his third year of medical studies. They both had to give it up. Louis started taking suppressants, because he understood that war held more dangers than being killed by the enemy, because he needed to protect himself from his own side. The pain was excruciating. It did the job, though. And they both survived.

And now, for the first time in five years, they were together again, but their chests were still too heavy for them to be happy.

« I want to go out, » he said once he couldn’t stand listening to the cries in his own mind.

« Now? » Nick replied, and his voice sounded tired.

« Hmhm. »

« Okay. »

And just like that, he got out of bed, giving Louis a gentle peck on the lips before getting ready, when less than a minute ago all he seemed to want was to stay under the covers forever. He knew every moment spent together was an occasion to get to know the people they became after five years spent apart. Louis smiled at him, sitting on the bed to watch him get dressed.

« Where are you taking me, then? » he asked, sly.

« I’ve heard about some ruins down in the village and I was planning to visit them someday during the week. I’m sure you’ll love them. »

His eyes had that sparkle again.

Louis liked history as much as the next person, but Nick positively loved it. It was his obsession, his vocation, his whole life, really.

« Didn’t you have some great-great-great grandfather who came to Scotland for a while? What was him name again? James? John? »

« Jonathan, » Nick corrected. « Jonathan Grimshaw, they used to call him « Black Jack » Grimshaw when he was in the army. Stuck with him long after. »

« He was Captain of dragoons in the British army, » Louis said, glad to remember something from what Nick had probably repeated a thousand times before.

« Exactly, » he answered with a smile. « I don’t think he would be very appreciated here. He was very unpopular through the Highlands during the 18th century. Proved very effective during the jacobite risings. » And then, understanding Louis probably had no clue of what he was talking about, he added, « You know, Charles Edward Stuart, the Bonnie Prince Charlie and all that. »

« Yeah… » Louis answered, although it didn’t really help. « I don’t get why Scotts are still holding grudges, though. Someone even called me _Sassenach_ at the pub last night. »

Nick laughed as if Louis was a child.

« Don’t get offended by that, love. It’s just gaelic for stranger. Outlander, at worst. »

« Still, » Louis said, because he didn’t like being wrong, « I didn’t like his tone. »

* * *

They stopped at the village for Nick to replenish his paper stock at the local shop and ended up sharing a scone, walking through the streets and enjoying the Highlands’ decor. Sometimes Nick would stop to have a closer look at some house, study the architecture, the layers of history behind the bricks, and Louis would stand back and watch him, fond.

« What do you think that is? » Nick asked as he was looking at one of the houses’ door.

« Huh? » Louis looked at the direction Nick was pointing at. « Oh, fuck. Blood. »

« You sure? » Nick asked, sceptic.

« Think I should know the look of blood by now, » he replied, only slightly offended.

« There’s a stain just like that on the house next door! » Nick exclaimed, a little too joyful for someone discovering blood stains. « And then two more over there. Could be some sort of Pagan sacrificial ritual. »

« I had no idea Inverness was a hotbed of contemporary paganism, » Louis laughed, walking right behind Nick.

« Oh, love, there’s no place on Earth with more magic and superstition mixed into its daily life than the Scottish Islands. »

They ended up stopping at a pub, curiosity getting the best of them, to ask the bartender about the blood stains.

« Oh, that was the the blood of a black cockerel. It’s an old custom at this time of the year, to honor Saint Odhran. » he happily answered. « You might find more intriguing things, just nigh on Samhain. »

« That’s gaelic for Halloween, right? » Louis asked, gathering the little knowledge he had. 

« Well, Halloween is derived from Samhain, » the bartender answered, although he didn’t look offended by Louis’ ignorance. « You’re both welcome at the Samhain festival, of course. Mind you, ghosts are freed on the feast days. They’ll be wandering about, free to do good or ill as they please. »

Louis laughed at that, but, to his surprise, Nick didnt.

* * *

« What was _that_ about? » Louis asked once they left the pub.

« What do you mean? » Nick asked back rather than answering the question.

« You got all gloomy when he mentioned ghosts. I didn’t know you believed in spirits, » Louis said, half-jokingly.

« I don’t, » he quickly replied, « But Scotland really makes you doubt things. Last night… » He opened his mouth to continue, but closed it again, seeminly deciding against it.

« Last night..? » Louis encouraged.

« Well, it’s probably nothing. I was tired, maybe I imagined the most of it. » Nick tried to brush it off, but Louis wouldn’t take it, arms crossed and staring at him until he decided to spill.

Eventually, Nick continued.

« I saw a man standing in front of the house last night as I was coming back from the library. It seemed like, well… » He hesitated. « Like he was looking at your window. »

« My window? » Louis huffed in disbelief. « Well, I hope he had fun. »

« I’m not sure he did, if I’m honest. He looked properly devastated. I approached him and asked him what he was doing there but I think he didn’t hear me because of all the wind. I was about to tap him on the shoulder to get his attention but he turned abruptly right then and walked away. I’m not sure he even saw me, even though he looked in my direction. »

« What did he look like? »

« Kind of tall, long, curly hair. He was wearing the traditional scottish dress, tartan kilt and plaid and all. He had that magnificent stag brooch on his chest, wish I knew where he got it. »

« Most men from the village own this kind of outfits, » Louis said as they resumed their walk. 

« Yes, but… It wasn’t about his outfit. It was a windy night, you remember? Could hardly keep my hat on without having it fly away. And yet, his clothes didn’t move one bit, except for when he started walking. And then, after a few miles, he just disappeared. »

Louis stopped walking, looking at Nick with furrowed brows. That didn’t make much sense. He knew Nick wasn’t the kind to make up stories, and he was still sane enough not to start having hallucinations. But a ghost? And not just any ghost, but one that was stalking him? Even with the greatest will, Louis couldn’t really believe it.

« I’m sure there is a logical explanation for what you saw, » he started, not wanting to express his doubts out loud to Nick. « But it’s not one we can think of right now. »

« You must be right. »

He must be.

They kept walking.

« You see up there? » Nick asked after they had spent long minutes walking in silence. « Up on top there, on the other side of the road, that’s Cocknammon rock. »

Louis looked up, his eyes falling on a giant rock a few miles away, surrounded by trees that look infinitely smaller in comparison.

« In the 17th and 18th century, » Nick continued, « you’d find British army patrol sitting up there waiting for Scottish rebels. It was the perfect position for an ambush. »

Louis listened, only half-interested, his mind drifting away.

* * *

It took them another half hour to get there.

Nick got out of the car first, barely able to contain his excitement anymore. Louis knew what he meant. The outside of the construction was mostly in ruins, destroyed by wars and years of anbandonment, but it wasn’t hard to imagine the place before it got taken down.

They may have been only runes then, but a few centuries ago, a great castle had been standing there, pride for many, home to more. How many had lived there, let out their first cries and last breaths, ran through the corridors and fell in the staircases?

« So what I can gather, » Nick said, pulling Louis out of his thoughts, « Castle Leoch was the ancestral home of the MacKenzie clan until midway through the nineteenth century. »

So less than a hundred years before, then. Castle Leoch’s ghosts were still young, and Louis felt them everywhere around him.

He stepped inside, finding a way between the fallen stones, trying to walk down what remained of the staircase, Nick’s voice following him closely.

« See, I think this might’ve been the kitchen, » he said as they reached a large room at the bottom of the stairs.

Louis wasn’t so sure of that, but he wouldn’t say it. Nick was the historian, not him.

He walked around the room, looking for, maybe, some secret passage, the kind that would open when you’d pull a book from the shelves.

Except there was no book.

There wasn’t much anymore there, frankly, if not for the giant stone table in the middle of the room.

« That’s one thing that survived through the years, » Louis said as he stood on his toes to sit on the table.

It was still a little high for him.

Nick came to his rescue, hiding his smile against Louis’ neck as he helped him.

« Careful, love. You’ll get dirty, » he said, fingers running along Louis’ back.

The room suddenly felt warmer, and the stone cold table was now almost burning under his thighs.

« You can give me a bath, » he answered absent-mindedly, drawing his lips along Nick’s neck. It felt nice.

Nick’s hands slowly fell against his arse, and then slightly up to play with his belt.

« Why, Mr Grimshaw, » he said, and Louis smiled at the name, « I do believe you’ve left your underwear at home. »

* * *

« I want to see the witches, » was the first thing Louis said the day after, as he was scanning through one of the books he borrowed from the landlord.

« They’re not really witches, love, » Nick said, happily jumping on the occasion to share his knowledge with his husband. « More like wiccans, I’d say? They’re not really part of a sect or a satanic cult. They usually meet up somewhere in the woods for Pagan rituals, but I wouldn’t know where. »

« How do you know all that? » Louis asked, amazed.

« Didn’t I tell you? » he took his time to answer, playing on Louis’ excitement. « The landlord’s housekeeper is one of them. »

« No _fucking_ way! » Louis shouted, but was only met with Nick’s disapproving stare. « Sorry, » he mouthed. Nick would often reproach to Louis his « not omega enough » behavior. Louis knew he didn’t really meet his gender’s standards. The war, mainly, had toughened him up more than he would admit, and he had gotten used to the disregard for gender they had in the army. He was just one of the guys then, but now he had to relearn his place in a world where omegas still had to keep their heads relatively low.

« D’you think she could take us to one of their gatherings? »

« You can always try, but I’m not sure I’d be invited. All witches are omegas. »

« Is that, like, a genetics thing? »

« More like a rule, I’d say. That was how things have been for centuries, you can’t just come one day and decide to change it. Covens are pretty strict with who they let in. »

Well that was at least one good thing that would come out of his gender.

« I’ll talk to her, then! »

And he did.

Mrs Graham, the housekeeper, was an incredibly nice lady. Louis had already spoken to her a few times since they had arrived, but never more than a few words, and so when she asked him if he wanted to have a cup of tea in the garden – away from Nick and Mr Wakefield who were, once again, obsessively going through history books trying to retrace Nick’s family tree, Louis was more than happy to accept.

They sat on Mr Wakefield comfort chairs, lazily bathing in the sun, with a cup of tea like Louis hadn’t had forever.

« Fuck, I haven’t had real Oolong for ages, » he said between two sips.

Another good thing about Mrs Graham is that she didn’t mind his swearing.

« I’ve got an enormous stock of it in my bedroom. It was almost impossible to find during the war. It’s the only tea good enough for tasseography. »

« As in fortune-telling? » Louis was a little surprised that she was so open about her witchcraft.

« Why don’t you finish your cup, darling, and I’ll read your leaves, mh? »

Louis didn’t really believe in those who pretended to tell you your future with tea leaves and coffee grounds, but he didn’t want to hurt Mrs Graham’s feelings, and he still wanted her to tell him about the other witches, so he hurried to empty his cup before handing it to her.

She took it with a smile, leaning it in every direction to examin it more closely. She kept doing so for almost a minute before carefully putting it down.

« So, am I going to meet some handsome stranger in the near future? » Louis joked.

« Maybe, » she answered, her serious tone contrasting with Louis’ irony. « Or maybe not. It’s strange, really, it’s like all the signs contradict themselves. There’s a curved leaf that means a journey, but there’s a cut leaf on top of it that means sedentarity. And for strangers, there are many of them! One of them seems to be your husband. »

What that meant, Louis wasn’t so sure about. It was true that, to a certain extent, Nick and him were still strangers to each other, but he didn’t really like the idea of it being so obvious.

« Would you mind showing me your hand, dear? »

Louis minded a little bit, but he still did. She took it in hers, studying it carefully.

« What does my hand say about me, then? » Louis asked, a little uncomfortable.

« Well… Your thumb, now, shows you’re strong-minded and you’ve a will not easily crossed. This, » she pointed at the base of his thumb, « is your mount of Venus. In alphas, it means he’s, well, a lasses’ man to put it lightly. But in your case it means, to be polite about it, that your husband isna likely to stray far from your bed. »

She laughed as Louis’ cheeks redenned. She looked closer at his palm, pointing at some lines here and there as she was talking.

« This right here is your lifeline. You can see how clear it is. It’s interrupted here, meaning a big change. But it’s a little different, all… Bits and pieces. _This_ , » she pointed at another line, « Is your marriage line. It’s… Divided. That’s not very suprising, it simply means two marriages. »

Maybe not surprising to her, but it was to him. He didn’t yet know to what extent he believed in what she was saying, but if his fortune held a second marriage, then he was better off an unbeliever.

Mrs Graham seemed to notice something was off because she smiled reassuringly before continuing.

« Don’t you worry, it does’na mean something is going to happen to your husband. But … Most divided lines are broken. Yours is… _Forked_. You sure you don’t have another husband hidden somewhere? » she joked.

« Where would I find the time? » he happily joked back, glad to lift up the tension a little. « Can I ask you something as well? »

She nodded.

« Could you take me to the witches gathering? » he asked bluntly, not sure how useful it would be to delay it any further.

« Who told you about it? » her tone was nothing but curious, and it reassured Louis a little.

« Nick, my husband, » he answered. « He told me of the rituals in the Highlands and I got a little too curious.

« I don’t see the harm in curiosity, my dear. » She paused to think before continuing. « I can take you tomorrow, if that is your wish. »

« _Tomorrow?_ » he echoed in disbelief.

« Tomorrow. But you will have to be discreet, and only watch from afar. »

He nodded frantically, all the excitement from his conversation with Nick coming back at him.

Tomorrow. He just had to make himself busy until then.

* * *

Mrs Graham woke Louis up, as promised, to take him to his first gathering. Everyone was still asleep when they left the house, and he couldn’t quite tell if it was late night or early morning. She insisted that they walked, not stopping once, passing some areas he thought he’d seen before with Nick. He tried entertaining a conversation, but her answers, which never went over one word, quickly dissuaded him. Finally, they stopped near the base of a curious flat-topped hill. Green as most of its neighbors, with the same rocky juts and crags, it had something different: a well-worn path leading up one side and disappearing abruptly behind a granite outcrop.

« What’s up there? » he couldn’t help but ask.

« Ah. » Mrs Graham looked at the hill with a mischievous smile. “That’s Craigh na Dun, lad. This is where we part. »

« Part? » he echoed. They never talked about parting. Now that he thought of it, they didn’t talk about much.

« You go up that road, I’m sure you’ll be just fine, » she said, unbothered. « Find some place to hide so as not to bother anyone, and enjoy the sight. »

Louis thought to reply, but she was already leaving.

Alright, then.

* * *

Louis realized, amazed, that at the top of the hill - _Craigh na Dun_ , he spelled with a smile - was a stone circle. Some of the standing stones were brindled, striped with dim colors. Others were speckled with flakes of mica that caught the morning sun with a cheerful shimmer. There was something odd about them, though. A closer look gave Louis the answer ; they weren’t like any of the stones that thrust out of the bracken all around. Whoever built the stone circle, and for whatever purpose, thought it important enough to have quarried, shaped, and transported special stone blocks for the erection of their testimonial.

Lost in his observation, he almost didn’t hear the faintest of rattles near the crest of the hill. He quickly moved away from the stones, walking in the opposite direction to the sound, until he found a bush to hide behind. Right then, a neat grey head rose silently into sight. Mrs Graham. The housekeeper was dressed in tweed skirt and woolly coat, with a white bundle under one arm. She disappeared behind one of the standing stones, quiet as a ghost. They came quite quickly after that, with subdued giggles and whispers on the path that were quickly shushed as they came into sight of the circle. There were fifteen in all. With a minimum of chat, they disappeared behind stones or bushes, emerging empty-handed and bare-armed, completely clad in white.

They assembled outside the ring of stones, and stood in silence, waiting. The light in the east grew stronger. It was morning, then. As the sun edged its way above the horizon, the line began to move, walking slowly between two of the stones. The leader took them directly to the center of the circle, and led them round and round, still moving slowly, stately as swans in a circular procession. Raising her face toward the pair of easternmost stones, she called out in a high voice. Whatever the call was, it was echoed again by the dancers. Not touching, but with arms outstretched toward each other, they bobbed and weaved, still moving in a circle.

Suddenly the circle split in half. Seven of the dancers moved clockwise, still in a circular motion. The others moved in the opposite direction. The two semicircles passed each other at increasing speeds, sometimes forming a complete circle, sometimes a double line. And in the center, the leader stood stock-still, giving again and again that mournful high-pitched call, in a language long since dead. They should have been ridiculous, and perhaps they were, but the hair prickled on the back of Louis’ neck at the sound of their call. They stopped as one as the sun rose above the horizon, its light flooded between the eastern stones, knifed between the halves of the circle, and struck the great split stone on the opposite side of the henge. The dancers stood for a moment, frozen in the shadows to either side of the beam of light. Then Mrs Graham said something, in the same strange language, but this time in a speaking voice. She pivoted and walked, back straight, along the path of light. For a moment, Louis felt as is she was looking at his hiding place, and he wasn’t sure if he had imagined to faint wink she gave him. Without a word, the dancers fell in step behind her. They passed one by one through the cleft in the main stone and disappeared in silence. He crouched behind the bush until they had set off in a group down the hill.

* * *

« Fuck, Nick, that was _something_! » Louis exclaimed the second he got back in their room. Nick was awake, now, drinking his morning cup of coffee near the window, absorbed, as he always was, in one of his books.

He looked up when he heard Louis’ voice.

« Yeah? That good? » he asked, putting his book aside.

« Better! I got chills at one point. » He sat next to Nick, stealing his cup of coffee away. « Err, » he said after one sip, putting it back in its place, « I don’t know why you love coffee so much. What are you reading? » he asked, gesturing to the book on the table.

« Found some local documents that mention my ancester. »

« Black Jack? »

« Himself. »

Nick opened the book again, allowing Louis to peek inside. The spidery handwriting was so faded and so ornate that it seemed impossible to decipher it. One sheet, better preserved than the rest, had some sort of crest at the top.

« The Duke of… _Sandringham_ , is it? » Louis asked, peering at the crest.

« Apparently, and according to what I’m reading, Jonathan Grimshaw had not been merely a gallant soldier for the Crown, but a trusted - and secret - agent of the Duke of Sandringham. The language is very guarded, of course… » Nick turned the pages gently, « But it seems from this that he was entrusted with the job of stirring up Jacobite sentiments, if any existed, among the prominent Scottish families in his area. But that’s odd. Wasn’t Sandringham a suspected Jacobite himself…? » Nick asked, but he wasn’t talking to anyone but himself. Pressing a kiss to his forehead, Louis let him dive back into his discoveries, while he himself dove back into his precious bed.

* * *

« What are you doing? » Nick asked, coming up behind Louis as he sat in the parlor chair that evening, a large book spread out on his lap.

« Reading about the stones, » he said absent-mindedly, « Craig nah Dun. There’s something about them that’s fascinating. »

Weirdly enough, Nick didn’t seem to care much, even though he was the historian there.

« Yeah? Found anything interesting? »

« I guess, but also not really. I might go back there sometime to have a closer look. »

« Sure, » Nick replied, but Louis was well aware he wasn’t listening.

« Might even go today, » he added.

« That’s great, sweetheart. »

He rolled his eyes and got back to his book. But now that he’d said it, it was getting hard to fight the urge to go back to the stones.

« You know what, » he said, closing the book and setting it aside, « I’ll go now. »

« Where? »

« The _stones_ , Nick. »

« Sorry, » he smiled, aware he’d been caught not listening. « Do you want me to come with you? »

Louis considered it for a second. For some reason, the stones felt like his own little secret now, and Nick’s lack of interest didn’t help much to fight that.

« No, it’s fine, » he decided, « Keep investigating that Captain of yours. I’ll get changed and go. » He stood up, pressing a kiss to Nick’s lips. « I’ll be back before dusk, alright? »

« Be careful, Lou. »

« Always, » he smiled.

He pratically sprinted to their room, looking for something to wear. He was feeling quite the adventurer, suddenly, and Scotland wasn’t half as cold and foggy as they’d let it seem, and that pair of denim shorts was eyeing him for a while now and who was he to say no?

He couldn’t remember the last time he wore shorts for something other than the beach, and even then, he had to respect a certain lenght, expected to cover himself at all times. He could manage those shorts, though. It wasn’t like he would meet anyone. Nick probably wouldn’t even see him. And if they stopped a little too high above the knees, well, it couldn’t hurt anyone.

* * *

The stones were easy to reach this time around, probably because he knew where he was headed. In daylight, they looked slightly different. The tallest stone of the circle was cleft, with a vertical split dividing the two massive pieces. Oddly, the pieces had been drawn apart by some means.

He was trying to measure the distance between the pieces – two or three feet at least – when he first heard it. There was a deep humming noise coming from somewhere near at hand. Confused, he placed a hand on one of the stones to lean into the cleft, but then something unexpected happened. The stone _screamed_.

He backed away so fast he tripped and fell backwards. Nothing he could think of could explain that sound, nor describe it. And then, as sudden as the first one, the other stones began to shout, and Louis, wide-eyed and sitting on the floor, right where he fell, could do nothing but watch and listen as the shouts merged with cries of dying men and shattered horses.

He waited for it to stop, but it didn’t. After what seemed like a lifetime, he managed to stumble to his feet and staggered towards the middle of the circle. The screams were all around him, deep and guttural, making his head spin. He wasn’t even sure he could see properly anymore, and everything around him was turning into a blur. He felt himself fall and brought his hands forward to catch himself on the stone before him, but right as his fingers met the cold of the stone, his vision turned into darkness, and then something so bright yet so empty, like he was spinning, perhaps falling, into a void he could somehow feel, like if, during his fall, he was slammed repetedly against invisible walls.

And then, as abruptly as it all started, everything stopped, and he fell over the stone hands first like he’d meant to, like all the things he’d felt were nothing but a product of his imagination, one that had only lasted for a split second.

The stones were silent.

But then he heard it again. Cries, and gunshots, and running horses, but it wasn’t coming from the stones. It felt real, it _was_ real, and it was getting closer and closer.

As he turned to where the sounds were coming from, he saw them. Two or three men, dressed in kilts, running across a small clearing. A little far-off was the unmistakable banging noise of gunshots, followed by the appearance of five or six men dressed in red coats and knee breeches, waving muskets.

Louis didn’t think. He ran, ran as quick and far as he could, unsure to what direction the village was anymore, until the men were out of sight. Short of breath, he let himself fall on the dirt, head dizzy. Then, he held up two fingers before his face, which he could clearly see. So his vision was intact. He palmed his head, but no blood or soreness anywhere. His pulse was a little fast, but nothing all that running and panic wouldn’t explain.

Certain he was out of reach, he let his guards down for a split second to try and understand what exactly was happening, but then he felt something grimp him by the arm. His first instinct was to scream, but a hand clamped over his mouth as he was forced to turn around.

He let out a sigh of relief as he saw who the untruder was.

« Nick! » he burst out, « What the fuck were you playing at? »

But then, as he took a closer look at him, he sensed something wrong. It was not only the unfamiliar cologne, but something more subtle. And then he saw it. Whereas Nick had only gotten a haircut recently, this man’s hair was long, tied back from his face with a leather thong.

« You’re… Not Nick. » Louis whispered.

« I am not, » the man agreed, eyeing him up with interest.

« Who are you? » Louis asked, uneasy.

« I might ask the same question. »

His eyes raked him slowly from head to toe, lingering with an odd look of amusement on his legs, and suddenly Louis was well too aware of the amount of bare skin he was showing. Refusing to seem weak, Louis eyed him up just the same, and it was only then that he noticed just exactly was the man was wearing. His coat was a deep scarlet, long-tailed and without lapels, and a small coil of gold braid gleamed from one epaulet. It was a dragoon’s coat, an officer’s coat.

« Who the _bloody_ hell are you? » Louis asked again, although this time he could hear himself how frightened he was. The man – the officer - bowed sardonically, hand over his heart.

« I am, sir, Jonathan Grimshaw, Esquire, Captain of His Majesty’s Eighth Dragoons. At your service. »

The words played slowly in Louis’ head at first. He stood there for a moment, not quite grasping the meaning behind them.

And then he ran.

He fled blindly, branches scratching his face and legs, nearly falling a hundred times and barely catching himself a hundred more. Suddenly, he felt a heavy weight strike him in the lower back and he fell forward in the mud. Rough hands flipped him onto his back, and Captain Jonathan Grimshaw rose to his knees above him. He was breathing heavily and looked disheveled, dirty, and thoroughly annoyed.

« What the devil do you mean by running away like that? » he demanded. If Louis was honest, he didn’t know himself. Still gasping for breath, he tried to get free, but Grimshaw restrained him as easily as ever.

« Oh, like that, is it? » he said with a chuckle. He ground his hips hard against Louis’, and his hands pinned his shoulders to the ground as he duck his head in his neck. He was scenting him, Louis realised with horror.

« Let me go, » he almost screamed, praying for his voice not to disclose just how weak he felt in that moment. « My husband will come looking for me if I’m not by his side in ten minutes. »

That, however, only seemed to amuse the man.

« Your husband, then? Who would that be? _Nick_ , whoever he is? I’ve no man by that name among my company. Or is it some man who lives nearby? You look a bit more expensive than the local farmers could afford. Where is he? And why does he allow his spouse to wander alone through deserted woods in a state of undress? »

His gaze had returned to Louis’ face, and he suddenly stepped forward and gripped his chin in his hand.

There was a sudden whoosh from above, and Captain Grimshaw was on the ground at Louis’ feet, under a heaving mass that looked like a bundle of old plaid rags. A fist rose out of the mass and descended with considerable force. The Captain’s struggling legs, shiny in tall brown boots, relaxed. I found myself staring into a pair of sharp black eyes.

« And who _the fuck_ are you? » Louis said, still in shock.

He got no answer back. Instead, the man jerked on his arm, forcing him to follow. It wasn’t until they were going down the far side of the hill that he dared to ask where they were going. He didn’t, however, get any answer. Instead, and to Louis’ surprise, the man suddenly came to a halt and pushed him off the path, clapping a hand over his mouth and dragging him to the ground, rolling on top of him. A rush of panic took over him, feeling the scene from earlier playing back before him, but then he heard what the man had heard, and laid still. Voices called back and forth, english voices. Not thinking, he struggled to try and free himself, managing to get his mouth free. But as he opened it to scream for help, something crashed against the back of his skull, and everything went dark.

* * *

The next time Louis opened his eyes, it had gotten dark outside. Except he wasn’t outside anymore. He blinked, trying to adjust to the dark, but his eyes were drawn to a light on his side. He turned his head, only to find a group of men sitting by a fire. He recognized the one who had apparently brought him there. They obviously didn’t notice he was awake yet.

He thought of using their inattention to flee, but he didn’t make one move that he felt something tugging on his legs. Right, great. He was tied up.

« Fuck, » he cursed under his breath. He couldn’t even get up.

« Who’s he? » a voice rose from the mass of men beside him.

« A Sassenach wench, Dougal, by his speech. »

Sassenech. They were talking about him.

He swiftly closed his eyes, and on time apparently, because he could now feel all their eyes on him.

« Eh, a bonny one, Sassenach or no, » said another one.

« What is he? »

« Not sure. Would have sworn he be omega, but something’s off with his scent. »

« C’mere, lad, » Louis’ captor said, and it took him a moment to register than he was talking to him. « I ken you’re awake, » he said when Louis didn’t make a move.

Knowing his cover was blown, Louis opened his eyes, shooting him a look of defiance.

« And _how_ am I supposed to move, exactly? » he said, gesturing at the ropes that were restraining him. The question got the other men laughing as if he’d said something ridiculous.

A large, dark-bearded man then got up, and everyone fell silent. By his air of command, he seemed to be the leader of this pack. The men parted reluctantly as he walked to Louis, pulling out a knife from his belt – Louis then noticed he, as well as the others, was wearing a kilt – and cutting with a trained hand the ropes around Louis ankles and wrists.

« What’s your name, lad? » He asked, inspecting Louis.

« Louis… Louis Tomlinson, » he said.

« Louis? A French name, it is, surely? » He had in fact pronounced the name in correct French, though Louis himself had gotten used to giving it the English pronounciation. « Where did ye find this lad, Murtagh? » he demanded, swinging round on the man who had saved Louis earlier.

« At the foot o’ Craigh na Dun, » he shrugged, « He was havin’ words with a certain captain of dragoons, » he added, with a significant lift of his eyebrows. « Seemed to me like he’d taken him for a whore. »

Dougal looked over at Louis, taking in every detail of his outfit.

« I see. And is he? » he inquired, directing his question at Murtagh.

« We could put the question to the test, » a fat, blackbearded man said, stepping toward Louis with a grin, hands tugging at his belt.

« That will do, Rupert. » His voice held the ring of authority, and Rupert stopped his advances, making a comical face of disappointment. « I don’t hold wi’ rape, and we’ve not the time for it, anyway. » He took another glance at Louis, who was growing more painfully aware of his discheveled state. His shorts were ripped in some parts, as well as his shirt, and as much as he’d tried to hide it, he had no doubt they could smell his fear.

« I’ve no idea what he might be— or who—but I’ll stake my best shirt he’s no a whore. We’ll puzzle it out later, » said Dougal brusquely. « We’ve a good distance to go tonight, and we must do something for Harry first ; he canna ride like that. »

The men’s attention shifted to a young man crouched on a stool in the corner. He hadn’t said a word all the time Louis was there, kept his head bent, hand clutching the opposite shoulder, visibly in pain. One of the men pulled back his plaid, revealing a linen shirt blotched with blood. With a swift tug, he ripped the shirt frim the collar down the sleeve, and Louis couldn’t contain his gasp. The shoulder had been wounded ; blood was running freely down his breast. But more shocking was the shoulder joint itself. A hump rose on that side, and the arm hung at an impossible angle.

The young man looked up for the first time. Though drawn with pain and stubbled with beard, it was a strong, goodhumored face.

« Fell with my hand out, when the musket ball knocked me off my saddle. I landed with all my weight on the hand, and _crunch_ , there it went. »

« You canna ride with it that way, can you, Harry lad? »

The young man – Harry - shook his head, white-faced.

« Hurts bad enough sitting still. I couldn’t manage a horse. »

« No help for it, then, » the apparent leader said. « We’ll have to try and force the joint back. Murtagh, you and Rupert hold him. I’ll give it a try. »

He picked up Harry’s wrist, plainly intending to put the joint back by main force.

« _Don’t!_ » Louis shouted as he was about to move.

All eyes snapped on him, annoyed by his intrusion. He didn’t flinch.

« You’ll fucking break his arm if you do it like that. »

That, at least, had them hesitating. He took the occasion as it was and rose to his feet.

« Stand out of the way, please. »

He walked to where Harry was, taking his wrist between his fingers. They locked eyes for a few seconds. As surprised as Harry looked, he didn’t resist.

« You have to get the bone of the upper arm at the proper angle before it will slip back into its joint, » Louis said, pulling the wrist up and the elbow in. « This is the worst part, » he warned. Harry’s mouth twitched.

« It canna hurt much worse than it does. Get on with it. »

Sweat was popping out on Louis’ face by now, the job taking all the strength he had. Suddenly the shoulder gave a soft crunching ‘pop’ and the joint was back in place. Harry looked amazed.

« It doesna hurt anymore! » A smile of relief spread across his face.

« It will, » Louis found it careful to warn. « It will be tender for several days. Stop at once if it begins to hurt, and use warm compresses on it daily. »

If Harry had been attentively listening, he wasn’t alone, Louis realised. The rest of the men were eyeing him with looks ranging from wonder to suspicion.

« I’m a nurse, » he explained.

« For a wetnurse, you seem to have some skill at healing, » the leader said after what felt like hours. « Can ye stanch the lad’s wound, well enough for him to sit a horse? »

« Wetnurse? And why would I help you anyway? » Louis echoed, ignoring his question. He didn’t get any answer either.

He looked down at Harry who was already looking away, a nice change from all the men who hadn’t tried to hide their gazes onto Louis’ bare legs.

« Alright, » he sighed. « The wound needs to be disinfected first, then bandaged with a clean cloth. »

Eyebrows rose all around.

« Disinfected? » said a small man, carefully.

« Yes? All dirt must be removed from the wound and it must be treated with a compound to discourage germs and promote healing. »

« Such as? »

« Iodine, » Louis said, already growing tired of this game – whatever it was. There wasn’t a hint of comprehension on their faces, though.

« Merthiolate? Dilute carbolic? » he tried again. « _Alcohol?_ » he sighed with impatience. This, they seemed to get. Murtagh thrust a leather flask into his hands.

« Bind up his wound, quickly. » He then managed to undo the piece of fabric around his collar and threw it to him. « We’ll be leaving directly. »

« I can’t use this, » Louis complained. « It’s filthy. »

But he was already out.

Using the grimy neckrag was out of question. Sighing, he looked down on his own shirt. While hardly sterile, it was by far the cleanest thing in there.

« Any idea where I can get a knife? » he asked.

Harry finally looked at him, slightly confused.

« What for? »

« For fuck’s sake, » he rolled his eyes, « Do you think I could harm you right now? »

Harry’s confusion only seemed to increase, but this time, he reached for his belt and took out a knife. He handed it to Louis who took it without a word, cutting out the bottom of his shirt until his midriff was showing, tearing it out to mimic a bandage.

« What are you doing? »

« Making sure your shoulder heals. You can thank me later, » Louis replied hastily. He opened the flask Murtagh had given him and poured its content onto Harry’s wound. To his credit, he didn’t even flinch. When he felt he couldn’t get a better result, he bandaged the fabric around his arm as tight as he could.

« This’ll do for now, but you need to get it dressed properly, » he said once he finished. Harry simply nodded, although it was quite apparent he wasn’t planning on doing so.

« Ready, lad? » Murtagh’s voice came from behind Louis, unsettling him. He didn’t hear him coming. Harry looked up at Louis, then at Murtagh. ‘’What about him?’’ his eyes seemed to say, although he didn’t express any of it out loud.

« Dougal says he’s coming with us, » he answered his silent question, which, _what?_ « Can ye ride one-handed? »

« Aye. »

« Good lad. » He looked approvingly at Louis’ handiwork. « Good job, lad. Come on, we’re ready. » He hustled me outside, followed more slowly by Harry, still a bit whitefaced.

Rupert and, he guessed it was Dougal, were holding six horses outside, muttering soft Gaelic endearments to them in the dark.

« Harry, get yourself up, » Dougal called as he saw them coming. « The lad will ride wi’ you. » He squeezed Louis’ elbow. « You can hold the reins, if Harry canna manage one-handed. Should ye try anythin’ else, I shall cut your throat. D’ye understand me? »

Louis nodded, throat dry and head spinning. He didn’t feel like he had anything to try anyway, not when he didn’t even know where they were.

Dougal seemed satisfied and let go of his elbow. Louis looked around until his eyes fell on Harry who was already mounting one of the horses. Sighing, he walked up to him and managed to hiss himself into the saddle in front of Harry, who gathered him in closely with his good arm. The horses broke into a trot as soon as they reached the road, and Louis grimaced at the little comfort he had. He could feel Harry’s thighs behind his, shifting and pressing occasionally to guide the horse.

After a time, they reached a crossroads, stopping while Murtagh and the leader – Dougal, Louis reminded himself - conferred in low tones. Harry dropped the reins over the horse’s neck and began twisting and turning behind Louis.

« What are you doing? » Louis asked, maybe in a harsher tone than he’d wanted.

« Getting my plaid loose to cover you, » Harry simply replied. « You’re shivering, » he added, as if it explained everything.

With a swirl, he twirled the plaid out and let it settle around his shoulders. He then put the ends over Louis’ shoulders and tucked them so that they were both warmly wrapped.

« Thank you, » Louis whispered, a little too affected by this act of kindness after being treated so ruthlessly for the past hours.

Harry didn’t reply, but he held him tighter for the rest of their journey.

* * *

It must have been hours since they started riding, and Louis’ eyes were starting to feel heavy. He didn’t get many hours of sleep, for he’d spent the night before spying on witches at the stones.

Was it really the night before?

He’d turned and twisted the question in his head again and again, without finding any rational answer that would satisfy him. He knew they weren’t that far from Inverness, yet he couldn’t see any of the lights that usually lit up the village from afar.

The electric lights.

The answer to his questions was playing on loop on his mind, but he didn’t want to give in. It didn’t make sense – not that anything made any kind of sense at the moment. Some part of him already knew it was true, though.

He wasn’t in the 20th century anymore.

« You alright there? » Harry’s voice came up from behind him, forcefully bringing him back to present time. Or was it past time?

« Yeah, sorry. Just tired. »

He felt Harry nodding behind him and looked around, trying to find a distraction in his surroundings.

They were going through an open area of terrain, hugging the rocks and cliffs.

Louis perked up at the sight of the rocks, feeling something familiar in their formation.

« I know this place… » he whispered, loud enough for Harry only to hear him.

« Been through here before, have ye? » Harry asked, making conversation.

« That rock, » Louis realised, « The one that looks like a rooster tail. It has a name. »

He remembered, now, going through this place with Nick. He remembered Nick pointing at the rock while Louis was only half listening. He’d said something about it. Something abut the English.

« Cocknammon Rock, » Harry said, and Louis’ eyes grew wide in realisation

« The English, they use it for ambushes. They could be lying in wait right now. »

Louis hesitated, not sure if he was right to reveal this information. If there was an English patrol in the neighborhood, perhaps he shouldn’t have drawn attention to it. Perhaps it would have been his salvation. But then he remembered Captain Jonathan Grimshaw, and shrudded involuntarily.

« It’s a bonnie place for an ambush, all right, » Harry said, thinking.

He didn’t think for very long, though, spurring the horse until they covered the distance between them and Dougal. Once they were closer, Harry leaned in to the leader, speaking to him in low, urgent tones. Louis tried to gather something from their exchange, but he quickly realised they were speaking Gaelic.

After a moment, Dougal held up his hand, reining his horse to a halt. Immediately, the rest of the men stopped as well, and Dougal turned to Louis with a hard look.

« Now, » he said, commanding, « You’ll be telling exactly how and why you come to know there be an ambush up ahead. »

« I don’t - I’ve heard that the redcoats use Cocknammon- »

« Where did you hear this? » Dougal urged.

Louis hesitated.

« In… The village. »

Just as Dougal opened his mouth to ask another question, a flash of musket fire sparked from a hollow. Louis could make out flashes of lights and poppings of muskets from the rocks around Cocknammon Rock and the sound of bullets whizzing through the air around them. There was a shriek from behind, and Louis’ horse leaped forward, urged by Harry, while Louis, taken by surprise, had to hold on for his life. But before he could realise what was happening, he felt Harry’s hand grabbing him around the chest and tossing him from the horse, Louis too struck to do anything. He fell in a scream into a bush and the horse sprinted off again with Harry on his back, while all he could do was watch them vanish into the rocks’ shadows.

He managed to get out of the bush without much difficulty, his fall, although hard, still safe. Picking up leaves and branches from his clothes and hair, he tried to listen for horses close, but there was nothing beside the sounds of battle already far away.

That was his chance, he realised. For the first time since he fell in there, he was by himself and free to go wherever he wanted.

But go where?

He knew he didn’t have much time. If he’d stayed there any longer, someone would find him. The patrol most probably saw him riding with Scots, he would have a hard time explaining himself. The Scots, would they come out of the fight victorious, would hold him hostage again. He might be safe for the night, if he managed to hide well, but they’d easily find him in the morning. He couldn’t stay in place, but he had nowhere to go.

Still, his mind made up, he began to walk, and then, as his feet got used to the unevenness of the ground, he ran, as far away as possible from the battle.

* * *

Louis found out the hard way that finding one’s way in the dark wasn’t an easy task, even if he didn’t know what his way was. Over the short time he’d been running, he’d stopped, disoriented, changing directions over and over again, unsure if he’d just been by that one tree or if, at night, all trees just looked the same.

Sighing, he looked up at the sky. The stars were brigther than he could ever remember. He thought it had something to do with the darkness on Earth.

Squinting his eyes, he searched through the stars, looking for…

« North star be over there, » came a voice from behind, as if reading his mind. He jumped back, startled, only to find Harry next to him, pointing to the sky.

« Sorry, » he added, the hint of a smirk making his lips twitch, « Didn’ mean to frighten ye. »

« You di- » he sarted, refusing to admit that, « I hope you haven’t been misusing that shoulder, » he scolded instead, trying to change the subject.

Harry only shrugged at that, drawing Louis’ attention to his shoulder. His bleeding shoulder.

« Shit, you’re hurt, » he exclaims, quickly moving next to him to take a closer look.

« Not really. S’not my blood, » Harry simply said, smug. « Not much of it anyway. »

« Oh... » Louis said, uneasy.

« C’mon now, » Harry said, taking him by the arm, « Dougal and the others will be waiting for us. »

He moved to leave, but Louis dug his feet on the ground, deciding to make his stand there.

« No, » he said, defying. « I’m not going with you. »

He’d expected Harry to pull him by force, but he barely got a reaction out of him, if not for the slight amusement in his voice when he spoke next.

« Yes, you are. »

« Says who, mh? What are you going to do anyway? Cut my throat?

« Why, no. You don’t look heavy. If ye won’t walk, I shall pick you up and sling you over my shoulder. Want me to do that? »

« No! » Louis panicked, immediately regretting the note of alarm in his answer. « I mean… You’ll hurt your shoulder. You can’t do that. »

« Well then, since you don’t want me to hurt myself, I suppose that means you’re coming with me? »

Refusing to answer, but knowing well he was cornered, Louis kept his head held high, accepting the arm he was extending to him while refusing to aknowledge that grin that spread once again over his face.

* * *

A few minutes later, they had rejoined Dougal and the others near a small creek. The men were in good spirits, laughing and talking in the dark, which meant they probably came out victorious from the battle. Not waiting for more, Harry swung up onto their horse. Louis, as he was scrampling aboard, unintentionally hit Harry’s shoulder with his head, and it made Harry grunt in pain.

Worried, and slightly guilty, he turned to face him, shooting him an interrogative look, but, not for the first time, Harry simply shrugged it off with a smile. Louis wanted to press the matter further, but at the same moment, Rupert rode over, lifting a flask in salut.

« Here’s to you, lad! » he laughed, « For tipping us to the villains in the rocks and giving us a bit o’ fun! »

They all cheered at that, drinking up from hidden flasks. Louis, however, could not share their sentiment.

« Here, » Harry said, putting his own flask between Louis’ hands. « Just take a wee nip. It willna fill your belly, » he whispered, « But it will make ye forget you’re hungry. »

He was right. As Louis took a sip, he felt the whisky build a small warm fire that burned comfortably in his stomach. They rode that way for several miles, taking turns with both reins and whisky flask. After a while, however, he started to feel Harry’s breathing get raggedy, and more than once he felt they balance go off.

« Are you alright? » he asked, confused. If he wasn’t drunk himself, he couldn’t imagine that Harry would be.

He got no answer back, but as he turned to watch him, ha caught him slumping over in the saddle.

« Stop, help! » he screamed, trying to grab him. « He’s falling over! »

Right then, he felt his grasp loosen and Harry slide off headfirst. His scream died in his throat, though, as he watched in relief Murtagh catch him in time. By the time he was off the horse, he had him laid down in a field.

He kneeled next to him, feeling his pulse. Still beating.

« He’s still breathing, » he said, watching his chest rise, « I think he’s just fainted. » He looked up to the worried men gathered aroung. « Put something under his feet and bring me water. »

Surprisingly, they all ran to carry out his instructions. He leaned in to get a better look at his wounds.

« The gunshot wound has been bleeding again, » he told Dougal, who was watching over him. « And the idiot’s been stabbed as well. I don’t think it’s serious, but he’s lost a lot of blood. »

Right then, Harry started to open his eyes, face pale with all the blood he’d lost.

« I’m alright… Just a wee bit dizzy, » he immediately said, trying to get up. Louis, however, wasn’t having any of it. He put a firm hand on his good shoulder, forcing him to stay down.

« You’re not alright, don’t even dare to move. You’re lucky you’re not dead, brawling and fighting and throwing yourself off horses, » Louis snapped, venting his fear and irritation.

To his credit, Harry had the decency to look guilty. Ignoring the pang of worry he was feeling, Louis took the flask of water one of the men was handing him, cleaning up the wounds before putting it to Harry’s mouth.

« Drink what’s left. »

« Why- »

« I said drink. »

Thankfully, Harry didn’t resist anymore.

« Where’s your… » Louis began to ask, his eyes then falling on Harry’s belt. Not asking for permission, he retrieved the knife he’d used before – although it was now noticeably more bloody.

« What are you doing? »

« I. Need. To dress. Your fucking wound, » he answered, punctuing every word with a slash of knife onto his already damaged shirt.

« Stop that, » Harry almost growled, his eyes following the knife. « You’re exposing yourself. »

« I couldn’t give less of a fuck right now, you _goddamned bloody bastard_ , » Louis said, a little too loud, effectively shutting Harry up and getting the attention of the rest of the men.

« Ne’er heard an omega use such language in all my life, » Dougal mused behind him.

« Who said anything about me being an omega? » Louis snapped, annoyed.

« Nah, you canna fool me, lad. You might not smell like one, but you sure do walk like one. »

« You can mind your own _bloody_ business, » Louis almost screamed, stopping the men’s laugh in their track. « And you, » he said as he turned to Harry, « You move so much as one single muscle while I’m tying this bandage, and I’ll throttle you. »

« Oh, threats is it? » he laughed, not the least bit worried. Louis noticed, however, that he stayed completely steady. 

« So? Can he ride again? » Dougal asked after a few minutes.

« Ride? He needs rest! »

Dougal made a negative motion.

« Nay. We’ve a good fifteen miles yet to go. » He looked up at the sky. « Five hours, at the least, and more likely seven. We can stay long enough for ye to stop the bleeding and dress the wound again ; no much more than that. »

Louis tried to argue more, but Dougal had already walked away, giving orders to the men in Gaelic.

« Goddamn it all to hell, » he muttered, giving his attention back to the bandages. To his surprise, he heard Harry chuckle beside him.

« Something funny? »

« Nah. »

He shot him a glare and tightened his bandage so it would press on his wound, making him grit his teet.

« Does it hurt? »

« It does, » he said, shortly.

« Good. You deserve it. »

Another chuckle.

« I stand by what I said, Harry. You shouldn’t ride yet, » he tried to put some sense onto him. « Surely the English won’t keep tracking you all night? »

« Grimshaw won’t give up so easily. »

Grimshaw. The name cut through Louis like another of their knifes.

« You know Grimshaw? »

For a moment, Harry didn’t answer, as if lost in his own thoughts. After a while, he looked up at Louis, studying him. Louis held his gaze.

« I won’t risk you, or anyone else, being taken prisoner by that man. »

Louis couldn’t help the shiver that traversed his spine.

« That’s all I can do right now, » he said, trying to hide the tremble in his voice. « The rest is up to you. »

« Thank you, Sassenach. Truly, » Harry said, in that too honest way Louis couldn’t get used too.

« On your feet, soldier, » he said as he got up, going for a strict voice but failing. Still, Harry accepted the hand he was giving him, shooting him one of his too many sincere smiles.

* * *

The rest of the journey passed uneventfully, by the standards Louis was becoming used to. Dawn was coming up in streaks when Harry leaned over Louis, whispering to his ear.

« Almost there. »

He looked up at the silhouette in front of them. A huge bulk of dark stone outlined by the grey light. Somehow, it felt familiar, although Louis couldn’t quite put a finger on it.

Their surroundings were no longer quiet and deserted. There was a trickle of people heading toward the same direction. They moved to the side of the narrow road to let the horses trot past, many of them glaring at whispering at the sight of Louis.

As the fog dissipated and the light of the morning shone on the stone, he finally recognized the place.

_Castle Leoch._


	2. Castle Leoch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for everyone's kind words and encouragements, and sorry for the delay in posting. You'd think with being stuck at home all day one would have nothing better to do than write, eh. Anyway, I hope you'll enjoy this chapter just as much, if not more than the first one, and of course I'm eager to know what you'll think of it!

Castle Leoch looked fairly different from what Louis had seen of it, although it shouldn’t have come as a surprise. He was, somehow, beginning to accept the idea that he’d fell somewhere in the eighteenth century, although he still had no idea as to how – or why any of it happened.

« Ay, Dougal, » shouted one of the men, in that thick accent that was so notably Scottish. « You’re early, man! We hadn’ thought to see you before the Gathering! »

Dougal swung down from the saddle, greeting the man with a rough hug.

« Aye, well, we’ve had some luck, both good and bad. I’m off to see my brother. Will ye summon Mrs. Fitz to feed the lads? They’ll need their breakfasts and their beds. »

He added something in Gaelic to Murtagh and Rupert and left, the two men following him. Harry got down from their horse as well and extended a hand to Louis with a smile.

« I can still do it alone, you know, » he said, feigning annoyance, and got down without Harry’s help, although the hint of a smile was visible on the corner of his lips.

Maybe Harry meant to reply, but right then a large, stout lady in dark brown linen appeared before the small group.

« Willy, my dear! », she cried. « How good to see ye! And Neddie! »

She gave the small man a pat on the back that nearly knocked him over.

« I reckon you’ll want breakfast, eh? Plenty in the kitchen, go feed yourselves. »

She then turned to greet Harry, but stopped in her track at the sight of Louis. She looked at him with an open mouth, then turned to Harry, no doubt waiting for an explanation. Louis tried not to feel offended by it.

« Louis, » the Scot said, « Let me introduce you to Mistress FitzGibbons. » He then adressed FitzGibbons, « Murtagh found him yesterday, and Dougal said we must bring him along with us, so… »

Mistress FitzGibbons looked him up and down as if she was judging him. Then, apparently satisfied, she took him by the arm with a smile. 

« Come with me, then, we shall find ye something to wear that’s a bit more… Well. A bit _more_ , » she said, looking disapprovingly over his too short denims and his now shredded sweater.

They were about to leave when Louis remembered Harry.

« Wait, Harry! » he said, turning to him.

« Well, what about him? »

« I can fend for myself, » Harry said hurriedly, as if he didn’t want anyone else to know about his injuries.

Or worry about it, more likely.

« No, you can’t. You’re hurt, » Louis ignored him. He turned to Mistress FitzGibbons, « He was shot yesterday. I must tend to it before it gets infected. » She shot him a curious look. « You know, inflamed. With swelling and such. »

« Aye, I ken what you mean. But you reckon you know what to do for that? Are ye a charmer then? A Beaton? »

Louis nodded, although he didn’t have the faintest idea of what the words meant.

« Well, ye heard the lad, Harry. Ye need tending. »

Louis grinned at him with something like victory, and despite all of Harry’s efforts at looking mad, he grinned back.

* * *

After a long trip through cold narrow corridors, dimly lit by slitted windows, they came to a fairly large room furnished with a bed, a couple of stools, and a fire. Mistress FitzGibbons, at Louis’ request, sat Harry down the bed and gently got the remains of his tattered shirt off, replacing it with a warm quilt from the bed. She clucked at the shoulder, which was bruised and swollen, and poked at Louis’ clumsy dressing.

« I think it will need to be soaked off, » Louis said, « And then the wound cleansed with a solution for…for preventing fevers. »

« What will ye be needin’? » she asked simply.

Louis wasn’t sure himself. He doubted they would have antibiotics laying around there, and he didn’t know what else he could use that would be available in such a primitive Scottish castle.

« Oh! » he said in triumph, momentarily forgetting he wasn’t alone, « Garlic, I’ll need garlic. And witch hazel, if you have it. Also some clean rags I can bandage him with and some water. »

« Aye, perhaps a bit of comfrey as well? What about a bit o’ chamomile? »

Louis smiled at her. She would have made a great nurse.

She hurried to gather for him what he asked for, along with a cup of chamomile tea she put down next to the bed for Harry when they’d be finished with him.

Louis also noticed something else. Cherry bark.

« Painkiller, » he muttered happily.

Mrs. FitzGibbons looked pleased with herself. She helped Louis boil the water with the herbs and garlic she’d brought. Once they’d added the cloth strips to the mixture, Louis turned to her with a grateful smile.

« Thank you, Mrs. FitzGibbons. I can manage now, if you have things to do. »

« Aye, » she laughed, « Everybody calls me Mrs Fitz. You may also. »

And with that, she walked away, leaving Louis to tend for his patient.

He pulled the bandages off as carefully as he could, although some patches stuck to the flesh, coming away with droplets of fresh blood.

« Sorry. »

« No worry, » Harry smiled slightly. « I’ve been hurt much worse, and by people much less pretty. »

If he’d meant it to sound flirtatious, he hid it well, although it didn’t stop Louis’ blush from running to his cheeks. However, he quickly understood what he meant by these words as Harry bent forward for Louis to wash the wound.

Tears prickled at the corners of Louis’ eyes as he looked over Harry’s back. His skin was covered with a criss-cross of faded white lines. He had been savagely flogged, and more than once. There were irregular patches where several blows had struck the same spot, flaying off skin and gouging the muscle beneath.

Louis had seen his fair share of wounds and injuries during the war, but something about these scars made his heart ache.

He didn’t realise he had been staring for so long until Harry turned to look at him and caught him staring.

« The English. Flogged me twice in the space of a week. They’d have done it twice the same day were they not afraid of killing me. No joy in flogging a dead man, » he said conversationally.

« I shouldn’t think anyone would do such a thing for joy, » Louis replied cautionously, trying to keep his voice steady.

« You should have seen him. »

« Who? »

« Grimshaw. »

There was the name again. Louis felt sick.

« Why were you flogged? » he asked abruptly.

Harry sighed, moving his shoulder uneasily. As gentle as Louis was trying to be in his tending, he knew he was hurting him.

« The first time was escaping Fort William, and the second was theft. Or at least that’s what the charge sheet read. »

« Why where you escaping in the first place? »

Harry leaned down, as though he was sharing a secret with Louis.

« They were holding me prisoner, » he whispered.

They both chuckled at that. Harry’s laugh was a surprisingly deep, infectious sound.

« Weirdly enough, I gathered. But on what charge? »

« I think it was, » he thought for a moment, « Obstruction. »

« Doesn’t sound like a serious crime. »

« Ah well, you know, it’s whatever the English decide it is. It was almost four years ago now. »

Louis thought the story was over then, but after another wince at Louis’ touch, Harry closed his eyes and started talking again, as if to distract himself from the pain in his shoulder.

« It was in October, I reckon. My father was away, gone to a funeral at the next farm. And I was up in the fields wi’ most of the men, for it was close to harvest, and a lot to be done. Captain Grimshaw came to our place. My sister was alone in the house, except for two or three servants, and they all rushed upstairs to hide their heads under the bedclothes when they saw the red coats. Thought the soldiers were sent by the devil. Can’t say they were wrong. »

He closed his eyes briefly.

« I came to the house from behind, meaning to fetch a piece of harness from the barn, and heard my sister screaming inside the house. I went to the kitchen and found two redcoats going through our pantry, stuffing their sacks. Didn’t bother with them. I burst into the parlor and found two others with my sister, Gemma. Her dress was torn a bit, and one of them has a scratch on his face that was still bleeding. » He smiled a bit at that. « I didn’t stop to think, dove head first into them and slammed one to the wall. I wasn’t doing so bad, but then Grimshaw came in. Next thing I knew, he had his pistol to Gemma’s head, and I had no choice but surrender. » He stopped for a moment, recollecting his memories. Louis had almost finished disinfecting the wounds, although Harry didn’t seem to notice. « He was holding Gemma’s arm behind her back, but he let go of her to put a hand down her dress. » To Louis surprise, a smile, although grim, appeared on Harry’s lips.

« Then, she stamped down on his foot and gave him her elbow hard in the belly. And as he was bent over, choking, she turned around and gave him a good knee in the jewels. She got him to drop his pistol and was going for it, but one of the dragoons that was holding me got to it first. » Every hint of amusement left his face then. Louis had finished bandaging and stood behind him, afraid to say something and have him stop in his telling.

« When he’d got back enough breath to talk, he ordered his men to take us outside. He had me tied to the wagon tongue. Didn’ have a strap back then, so he beat me accross the back with the flat of his saber. Felt like forever. When he stopped, he turned to Gemma. He asked her if she wanted to see more, or if she’d rather go inside the house with him, and entertain him better. »

Louis felt sick in his stomach.

« I screamed to her that I wasn’ hurt, that she was not to go with him, even if he’d slit my throat before her. I couldn’t see then, but by the sound of it, she must have spat in his face, because next thing I knew he was holding me by the hair and setting a knife against my throat. He dug it just enough to make me bleed. » His tone was almost dreamy. From fatigue and pain, he had fallen into something like a hypnotic state. He stopped talking, staring straight ahead.

« What happened then? » Louis asked softly, squeezing Harry’s good shoulder as if to bring him back. » 

He shook himself, like he was waking up, and rubbed a large hand accrosh the back of his neck. For a moment, it met Louis’ fingers and lingered there.

« She went with him, » he said abruptly. « After that, I don’t know what happened. They hit me unconscious. When I woke up, I was tied up in the wagon with the chickens, on our way to Fort William. »

« I’m so sorry, » Louis said after a while, at loss for words. « That must have been terrible for you. »

« Aye. Chickens are very poor company, » he said. And even as tired as he was, he turned to look at Louis, his eyes big and green, and smiled.

« Thank you, Louis, » he added as he seemed to realise his dressing was done. He reached out his hand as if he was going to touch his face, and Louis held his breath, unsure, but he seemed to change his mind halfway and dropped his hand to the side.

Louis looked away hastily, releasing his breath. He’d felt it too, that unexpected surge of intimacy, and somehow his whole body felt drawn to the alpha’s.

But _Nick_.

Suddenly, he felt a pain of his chest too much like a heartbreak. He didn’t know where Nick was, what he was doing. He wasn’t sure if he was ever going to see him again.

He tried to control himself, but he hadn’t eaten, hadn’t slept in so long, and all that he’d lived through these past hours had worn him down. His eyes filled up with tears, and he wasn’t quick enough to hide them.

Harry reached again, and this time he took his hand.

« Sorry, » Louis said, wiping his face with his free hand. He felt Harry squeeze the one he was holding. « It’s nothing, really, it’s just… My husband, I… »

But he couldn’t finish any of his sentences.

« Is he… Are you widowed? » he asked, careful, looking at him with his too honest eyes.

The sympathy in his voice made it hard for Louis to hold back.

« No, I- Yes, I mean… Yeah, I suppose I am, » he cried, falling to his knees on the floor, unable to refrain any longer the tears running down his cheeks.

He half expected Harry to flee, but he didn’t. Instead, he held him by the shoulders and brought him against his chest, rocking him gently. He murmured soft words in Gaelic that Louis couldn’t understand, but had an unexpected calming effect on him. He asked no further questions, and for that Louis was grateful, and spent long minutes stroking his neck and smoothing his hair and until his sobs died down.

« I’m sorry, » he said once he was able to speak again, « I didn’t mean to… »

The realisation of their position slowly downed on him and he backed away, flustered and embarrassed.

« I’m sorry, » he repeated, but Harry stopped him from saying any more. Reaching for Louis’ hand, he pulled him back against him, sliding his fingers under his chin so he would look at him.

« You need not be scared of me, » he said softly. « Nor of anyone here, so long as I’m with you. »

« And when you’re not with me? »

« Just never forget that you’re English in a place where that’s not a pretty thing to be. »

It seemed like he wanted to add something, but he caught himself at the last moment. Instead, he looked down at Louis’ exposed skin, and he didn’t need to speak for him to understand what he didn’t say.

Louis was not only English, he was an omega and, as far as any of the Scottish brutes were concerned, unclaimed and unmated. He’d only cut down on his suppressants a couple weeks ago, after the war had ended, and although his scent was still very faint, barely there, it was apparent enough that he wasn’t a beta.

« Now, try to sleep a bit, » he said, letting go of Louis’ hand. « You’re worn out. »

He didn’t have it in him to protest ; he was exhausted. With a faint « goodnight », he jumped on the bed, falling headfirst into the pile of quilts and falling asleep before Harry even reached the door.

* * *

When he woke up the next morning, it was to a deep voice nagging him.

« Come then, lad! Ye must get up! »

He slowly opened his eyes, failing at first to recall where he was. His eyes then fell on Mrs Fitz who was waking him up, effectively shocking him back to consciousness. Her face softened a bit at the sight of his sleepy face, and she handed him a cup of hot broth with a smile.

Grateful, he started sipping it while she laid out on the bed a pile of garments. There was a long pale lemon-yellow linen chemise, not very unlike the ones the men had been wearing, although cleaner and softer, and a pair brown breeches.

« Figured you didn’a want to wear kilts, » she said when she caught Louis staring at the pants.

Brown-striped stockings of wool and a pair of yellow slippers completed the ensemble.

As soon as Louis had finished his brew, she took it to herself to dress him properly, as if she couldn’t bear any longer the sight of his inadequate clothing.

« Yellow suits you well, » she said once she finished, smacking her lips in satisfaction. « I thought it would. Goes well with ye skin. »

Louis already regretted his dear underwear, but he appreciated the care she was giving him. They were fine clothes, and although plain, they felt soft against his skin.

« Well now, that’s very good. You’re ready to be taken to Himself? »

« Himself? »

* * *

Himself, as it appeared to be, was the leader of the MacKenzie clan.

He received Louis in a room at the top of a flight of stone steps. It was a tower room, round, and rich with paintings and tapestries hung against the walls, clashing with what Louis had seen so far of the Scottish men’s taste.

« I welcome ye, lad, » he said upon Louis’ entrance. « My name is Colum ban Campbell MacKenzie, Laird of this castle. I understand from my brother that he encountered you some distance from here. »

« He kidnapped me, actually, » Louis snapped back, not in the mood to play with words.

« I understand, however, » Colum added, ignoring Louis’ comment, « That my brother and his men found ye in, erm, some apparent distress. » He seemed to be hiding a smile, and Louis had no doubt he’d been told stories of Louis’ state of undress and of his supposed nature.

Louis held back a sigh. Colum was obviously expecting a story from him, one he couldn’t tell, not without lying.

« My husband recently died while we were in Oxfordshire. » Lies. « I was traveling with a manservant to distant relatives in France, and we were set upon by highwaymen. » Lies again. « I managed to escape, barely. I was wandering through the woods when Captain Jonathan Grimshaw attacked me. » Almost truth. « I believe you know of him. This was how I was relieved of my clothes, although I’m sure you don’t need me to relate the details of that encounter. »

« Aye, it’s true that Captain Grimshaw has a certain reputation, but he is an officer. And you say that he decided to rape a stray gentleman he came upon in the woods for no good reason? »

« Is there ever a good reason for rape, Master Mackenzie? » He held his gaze, refusing to flinch under his insinuations.

« An unfortunate turn of phrase of my part, I apologize, » he simply said. His apology, however, did not sound genuine.

« You don’t believe me, » Louis stated.

« I did not say such thing, » he answered. « But I’ve held the leadership of this clan for more than twenty years, after my father’s passing in 1720. I learned not to swallow whole every tale I’m told. »

For a moment, Louis was too stunned to answer. For the first time, he could locate himself in time. More than twenty years after 1720. His suspicions were true, then. He was most likely around 1740, almost two hundred years prior to his own time.

« In the meantime, lad, » Colum added when he got no answer back. « You’re a welcome guest at Leoch. »

He raised a hand in dismissal, and Louis left without a word. Colum’s scepticism was clear, and it hung in the air around Louis like a menace.

* * *

A little boy was sent by Mrs Fitz, sometime during the evening, to fetch Louis for dinner. He followed him to a long, narrow room, outfitted with tables and supplied by a constant stream of servants, arms full of trays. Sconces along the walls held torches, lighting up the room as daylight faded. Banners and tartans of all colors hung on the walls between the windows. Colum was already seated at a table at the head of the room.

Upon seeing Louis, he nodded graciously at him and waved him to a seat on his left, next to a pretty red-haired woman he introduced as his wife, Letitia.

« And this is my son, Hamish, » he said, dropping a hand on the shoulder of a little red-haired boy, who couldn’t be more than seven or eight. He looked like all the other MacKenzie males Louis had seen. In fact, he could easily pass for a smaller version of Dougal, who was sitting next to him.

Louis looked down at his plate, his stomach grunting happily at the sight of smoked herrings.

His satisfaction died down a little when he noticed that the only utensile he had was a wooden spoon. He had to remind himself that forks wouldn’t come of use until a few years in the future, and where spoons lacked in efficiency, people apparently resorted to their hands.

« Is Mr. MacEdwards feeling any better? » he asked conversationally, digging into his plate.

Letitia looked at him in confusion, her brows tilting over her round eyes, and Louis wondered if he’d misheard the name they’d told him was Harry’s.

« He means young Harold, » Dougal supplied.

« Is he ill? » she asked, voice fill with concern.

« Just a scratch, » Colum soothed. « Nothing to worry about. » He turned to his brother. « Where is he, though? »

« I sent him down to the stables to help wi’ the horses, » he shrugged, eyes still on his plate. « Seemed the best place for him, all things considered. »

Louis doubted how the stables could be the best place, considering he hasn’t yet recovered from his gunshot wound, but decided it wiser not to speak up.

He waited until what seemed a reasonable time to excuse himself, pleading tiredness, and left the gathering.

One of the servants, seeing him wandering in the corridor, offered to lead him to his chamber, using his own candle to light the way. Louis took the opportunity to ask about the location of the stables, reminding himself Harry was a patient of his, and he needed to check on him.

Nothing more.

* * *

The next morning, Mrs. FitzGibbons arrived with a new array of clothes for Louis. As she was dressing him, he noticed the garment was finer than his previous one. He felt himself drawn to the silk bodice and the way it carressed his skin, the softness a welcomed change from the roughness of his surroundings.

She walked him to the dining hall where he’d been the night before, although it was fairly more crowded, and slightly transformed. The tables, benches, and stools were all pushed back against the walls. Where the head table used to be, there was what looked like a throne made of dark wood, covered with a dark green and black plaid which he assumed was the MacKenzie tartan.

Colum was sitting there, surrounding by a small group of men, betas and alphas both, amongst which Louis recognized Dougal only, standing close behind him. They were both dressed for ceremony, and Louis realized most of the people present were as well.

There was a line of people on the side, apparently waiting for their turn with Colum, while two men were standing before him, arguing in Gaelic. Occasionnally, something they would say would get them cheers, or, in the contrary, loud booing. Once or twice, Louis saw Colum’s lips twitch with amusement.

It quickly dawned on him that it was their version of court. People would come to the castle and expose their issues to Colum, who would then give judgement. Finding it rather entertaining, Louis managed a spot next to Mrs. Fitz so he could watch better.

Until this point, the cases seemed to have been of interest chiefly to the parties involved. But now there was an excited stir through the hall. A burly man stepped in front of Colum, dragging a young omega by the arm. She couldn’t have been older than sixteen. Her long blonde hair was tied back with a blue ribbon, and she kept her head down as the man was exposing his case.

Louis leaned onto Mrs Fitz, asking her for translation.

« Her father accuses her of loose behavior, » muttered Mistress FitzGibbons. « He wishes the MacKenzie to have her punished for disobedience. »

The man had finished his speech, and all attention was now on Colum. Looking from one to the other, he began to speak, and a shiver ran through the crowd.

This time, Louis didn’t need Mrs Fitz’s help to understand. Another man, waiting by Colum’s side, stepped forward, unbuckling his belt, while two guards held the frightened girl in place. Her face was wet with tears, but she got no pity from any of the men. The crowd themself was watching with excitement.

Suddenly, a voice rose from the back of the crowd, and all heads turned to see who had spoken. Although he had no idea what had been said, Louis thought he recognized that deep but soft voice.

The crowd parted, and Harry MacEdwards came out. He inclined his head respectfully to Colum, then spoke some more. There were murmurs and whispers in the crowd.

« What is happening? » he asked Mrs. Fitz.

« The lad’s offering to take the girl’s punishment for her. »

« They can’t do that! » Louis couldn’t help the surge of panic he felt. « He’s injured, for fuck’s sake. »

Mrs. Fitz shot him a scandalized look at his innapropriate words.

« I dunno, » she finally said. « They’re arguing. Normally, it is allowed for an alpha of the same clan to offer, but the lad’s not a Mackenzie. »

« He’s not? »

« Shhhh, » someone said next to him.

After long minutes of heated debate, the two guards released the girl, who ran back into the crowd, and Harry stepped forward to take her place between them. The same man from earlier stood, holding up the strap, but then Harry spoke some more, this time to the man. To Louis’ surprise, they both grinned at each other, and the man let go of the strap to place himself in front of Harry.

« What’s happening now? »

« Omegas have no choice, but alphas are allowed to chose the way of the punishment. He chose fists rather than the strap. »

Before Louis could ask further, the man flew his fist into Harry’s abdomen, making him lean down and gasp. He waited for Harry to stand straight and hit him again, and again, and again, directing his fists to his ribs and arms.

« How long is it going to last? » Louis asked, feeling his heart clench at the sight.

« Usually, they stop once there’s blood. »

Right then, the man drew back and drove his fist into Harry’s face, so hard he fell to his knees. Louis let out a sigh of relief. Less than a second later, his intuition was confirmed. Harry raised his head, blood running down his mouth, and the man stepped back.

« Thank you, » he said, not without difficulty, and got up, grunting with pain.

The crowd had already driven its attention to the next case, and Harry walked out. The girl was nowhere to be seen.

Louis waited as long as he could, counting down the seconds. But as he came up to twenty, he couldn’t resist anymore and, excusing himself to Mrs. Fitz, he left the gathering, looking for Harry.

He found him by the courtyard, leaning against a wall. His face didn’t seem too injured, although by the shortness of his breath, Louis could guess his ribs had taken the worst of it. He walked up to him, pulling out his handkerchief.

« What did you do _that_ for? » he couldn’t resist to ask.

« What? »

« Offered to take her punishment for her. Do you know her? »

« I ken of her. Never spoken to her. »

He used the piece of fabric to dab off as much as he could the blood in his mouth. Harry didn’t seem to have trouble speaking, now, which meant his mouth wasn’t cut on the inside.

« Then why? »

He shrugged, but immediately winced at the pain. Louis promised himself to take a look at that later.

« She’s very young, and unmated. She would have been shamed before everyone who knows her. I don’t care for that, and I’m not very hurt. I’ll get over it soon enough. »

« But why did it have to be you? » he asked stubbornly.

« Why not me? »

Louis found many answers to the question. Because you didn’t know her. Because you were shot not even a week ago. Because it’s not anyone who would have had the courage to stand in the middle of a room and let a man throw punches at you.

« How do you feel? » he asked instead.

« I’m good. I told you, it’s nothing I haven’t had before. You don’t have to worry. »

I know I don’t have to, he wanted to say again. I just can’t help it.

He didn’t get to say any of that, a flutter of movement at the courtyard entrance catching his eye. The same girl from earlier was walking up to them. She stopped in her track at the sight of them together.

Louis took a step back, leaving the handkerchief in Harry’s hand.

« I think someone wants to speak with you, » he said softly. « I’ll see you tomorrow so I can take off your bandages, alright? »

« Aye. Thank you again. » He squeezed Louis’ hand before letting go of him, and Louis went away, trying not to look back at them talking.

* * *

The next morning, Louis was grateful to wake up alone. He found Mrs. Fitz sitting in the dining hall, which had gone back to its normal state, taking breakfast.

« Would ye care for a look at the herb gardens? » she asked him once they’d finished eating. « It would seem ye’ve some knowledge of plants, and if you’ve a mind to, ye might lend a hand there in your spare moments. »

Louis quickly agreed.

The herb garden, valuable repository of healing and flavors that it was, was cradled in an inner courtyard, large enough to allow for sun, but sheltered from spring winds. Louis gladly lent a hand, planting garlic, pinching back dead flower heads, digging out weeds and listening to Mrs. Fitz describe every plant and its use. Morning had gone by when she declared they were over for the day, and he took leave of her, deciding now was as good a time as any to look for Harry. However, she insisted, before letting go of him, to take a turn to the kitchen, providing him a basket of food for Harry, as she gathered he wouldn’t have eaten yet.

She was right. Louis found him next to the stables, in a grassy meadow. He was sidling cautiously up along the side of a horse. He placed his one free arm on its back, talking softly. Moving slowly, he leaned across the blanket on its back, still muttering, and very gradually rested his weight on its back. Just then, the horse turned its head and saw Louis approaching. Rearing, the horse swung to face him, snorting and bucking, throwing Harry off balance and causing him to fall on the ground. Swearing in Gaelic, he turned to see what had caused his fall, but his face softened into a welcoming expression when he saw who it was.

« Is your shoulder okay? » Louis asked, worried that he had caused more pain to the alpha.

« M’fine, fell on the good one. »

« I brought food? » Louis said temptatively, still feeling guilty for his fall.

« Hungry, » was all Harry said, his eyes widening in an almost comical way.

They found a spot on the grass to sit. Harry insisted on laying down a pan of his plaid for Louis, but Louis walked around it and purposefully sat on the muddy ground.

« You’re impossible, » Harry muttered, but his voice sounded more amused than annoyed, and he opened the basket to take away the food. He insisted on sharing, and Louis, who hadn’t eaten since breakfast, didn’t resist long, gracefully accepting the pieces of bread and cheese he was handing him.

An hour later, the basket was empty, but they had forgotten about it long ago, deep in conversation, exchanging stories after stories. Louis never found anything to tell that wouldn’t be revealing of his secrets, so whenever Harry finished talking, he asked for another one, and they both happily fell back into his tales.

It didn’t occur to him until hours later, as he got back inside the castle, that he had forgotten all about Harry’s shoulder.

* * *

Colum called for him the next day.

Louis found him writing at his desk, but he stopped at once as Louis entered and greeted him.

« Dougal and Mrs. Fitz both say you’ve got quite the skill as a healer, » he said, after inquiring after his health and his accomodations

« It doesn’t take that much skill to dress a superficial wound, » Louis shrugged, cautious.

« Maybe not, but it takes a bit of skill to do it in the pitch-black dark by the side of a road. Have you any connection to clan Beaton? »

Louis remembered then the questions Mrs. Fitz had asked him. So that was what a Beaton was, then.

« I don’t think I have, no. »

« The healers of clan Beaton are famous through the Highlands. We had one here for a time. »

« Had? »

« He died, » Colum replied. « Fever. We’ve not had a healer since, although Mrs. Fitz had been taking care of us all. »

Louis smiled as he remembered the woman walking him through the different plants and herbs.

« I was wondering, » Colum then said, « You might think of having a look at the things Davie Beaton left behind him. You might know the uses of a few of his medicines and such. »

Louis took the time to think. He could feel Colum was giving him a test of some sort, although Louis wasn’t sure yet of its implications.

« Well... Why not? » he said after a thought.

Colum insisted on showing him there himself, and they took a walk along the castle. Beaton’s surgery was tucked out behind the kitchens, and Louis hadn’t put one foot inside the place that his mind flooded with memories. He had been in this exact same room, he realized, two hundred years in the future, with Nick.

He let his fingers wander over the giant stone table in the middle of the room.

« That’s one thing that survived through the years, » he whispered, feeling close to tears.

It was still a bit too high for him to sit.

He turned his gaze, taking a look at the rest of the room. There were multiple tall cabinets, stacked with jars, boxes and vials.

« Been some time since anyone’s been here, » Colum said, drawing Louis away from his thoughts. « I’ll have Mrs. Fitz send some of her lassies along to clean up a bit, shall I? »

It was an implicit offer, Louis realised. He was proposing for him to take up the job, whatever such a job meant. Take over Beaton.

He wasn’t a fool. It was all becoming clearer, now. Offering him a position in the castle would make it easier to keep an eye on him. He didn’t trust him, not yet, and he obviously wasn’t believing Louis’ sob story. Louis knew his tale wasn’t as perfect as he wished it was, but he had no way to convince them he wasn’t an English spy without revealing the truth, which was far less believable anyway.

« I think it would be better, yes, » he smiled, cautious. It wasn’t like he had any way out. And even if he had, he would still be stuck in this time. For now, and as much as it bothered him to say, he was probably safer at Castle Leoch.

He thought he’d seen a spark in Colum’s eyes, but it didn’t last long.

Resuming his inspection, he opened a cupboard door. There, he found a small worn book on the lower shelf. Scanning through it, he found it to be Beaton’s journal, in which he had recorded the names of his patients, their cases and the treatments he’d given them.

In a page, he’d written : « 2nd February, A.D. 1741. Sarah Graham MacKenzie, injury to thumb by reason of catching the appendage on edge of spinning reel. Application of boiled pennyroyal, followed by poultice of: one part each yarrow, St. John’s-wort, ground

slaters, and mouse-ear, mixed in a base of fine clay. »

Louis’ eyebrows rose as he read it. Slaters? _Mouse-ear_?

« Did Sarah Mackenzie’s thumb recover? » he asked Colum.

« Sarah? » The Laird thought for a moment. « No, I believe not. »

« Maybe I can take a look at it. »

« I’m afraid you can’t, » he said, and Louis thought he caught a hint of amusement in his voice.

« Why not? »

« She died a week later. »

Louis stared at him, too stunned to reply.

« I hope you’ll prove to be a somewhat better healer that David Beaton, Mr. Tomlinson, » he said as he walked away. « You could hardly do worse. »

* * *

Mrs. Fitz sent for three girls to clean up the place the next day. From then, Louis spent whole days locked up in the room, ordering the vials, throwing away what he had no need for, scanning through Beaton’s books and writing notes of his own.

Every day, Mrs. Fitz would send down some kid with a basket full of food and scoldings, and Louis would send her thanks and promise to show up for lunch the next time – but he rarely did.

He was going through one of Beaton’s books when he heard the door open. Assuming it was lunch again, he didn’t bother looking up.

« Thank you, » he said absent-mindedly, « Please tell Mrs. Fitz I’ll be there next time. »

« Quite frankly, I think she’s given up hope on you, » a voice said, and Louis’ head snapped.

« What are you doing here? » he asked, annoyed at the softness of his own voice.

« I haven’t seen you at the hall lately. Asked Mrs. Fitz, said you spent all your time hidden down here. Thought I’d return the favor, » he said.

It was then that he noticed the basket in his hand. Something warm formed in his chest.

« You shouldn’t have. »

« Didn’ have much to do anyway, » he shrugged. Louis noticed he had taken off his bandages.

« Want to stay with me, then? » he proposed. Surprisingly, it seemed like Harry wasn’t expecting that, but he quickly caught himself and smiled.

« If I’m no bother », he said, and he drew a stool to the table.

* * *

« I have a question, » Louis said, half an hour later.

Harry nodded, waiting for him to ask.

« What are you doing here? I mean, you’re here, working at the stables for the Mackenzies. Doesn’t seem like your kind. »

« What is my kind, then? »

To be honest, Louis wasn’t sure. However, from what he’d seen so far, Harry seemed both higher born and better educated than most of the men at the castle. He’d probably come from a wealthy family as well.

« I don’t know, » he said instead.

« I’m an outlaw, » Harry finally gave in. « The English have a price of ten pounds sterling on my head. »

« For obstruction? » Louis wondered, surprised. Ten pounds sterling here was half the yearly income of a small farm.

« Nah. Murder. »

Louis’ eyes widened at that.

« Who did you kill? » he managed to ask.

« Well, it’s funny, really. I didn’t actually kill the man they’re hunting me down for. Still, had my fair share of redcoat blood on my hands, so I guess we’re even. »

Louis just nodded, waiting for him to continue. It was an unspoken agreement between them, by now. Harry told, Louis listened.

« It was at Fort William. I could hardly move for a day or two, after I’d been flogged the second time, and then I had fever from the wounds. After a while, some friends managed to break me out, but we caught the guards’ attention as we were leaving and an English sergeant got shot. I didn’t shoot him, though. Had nothing against the man, and I could barely manage to stay on my horse.

« That’s why I don’t leave the castle much, and never alone. I doubt you’d run into an English patrol this far into the Highlands, but ye can never be sure. And there’s always the Watch. » He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it messier than it already was. « You probably guessed by now my name’s not MacEdwards. »

Louis nodded.

« Does the laird know? »

« That I’m an outlaw? Oh, aye, Colum knows. Most people here heard about what happened at Fort William, they just don’t know Harry MacEdwards is the one they’re looking for.»

Louis had to fight to resist the urge to smooth his hair.

« Why’s your hair so short? » he blurted out. « I mean, most of the men wear it long here, » he added, feeling himself blush.

« Used to wear it long, » Harry answered, looking a bit self-conscious. « It’s short now because the monks had to shave the back of my head. »

« The monks? » Louis asked, surprised.

« Aye, » he said, and there was that spark in his eyes again. Louis smiled widely at him and set his elbows on the table, looking at him with excitement as Harry started telling another one of his tales.

* * *

Louis didn’t think he’d see Harry so soon, but he came in the day after with another basket and a smile on his face, and then the day after that, and soon enough Louis found himself looking expectantly at the door when lunchtime approached.

But Harry wasn’t Louis’ only visitor anymore. After only a few days, word traveled that the Castle had a new healer, and patients came by regularily. It wasn’t much for illnesses than it was about cuts and injuries ; Scotsmen had a particular way of passing time, which could be summed up in one word : fighting.

Louis was grateful to Colum for suggesting he’d take over. Being able to tend for others and take care of them had somehow helped him feel less like a helpless victim, which was the last thing he wanted.

It didn’t take him long to establish a pleasant routine. He’d wake up and have breakfast in the hall with the others – Mrs. Fitz would have hung him if he’s skipped one more meal – before going to the surgery. Harry would come for lunch, and they would sit and talk for a while before they both went back to their respective duties. Louis wouldn’t say he had gotten used to his new life, but he had learned to not suffer from it, at best.

He was working on drying off some herbs when he heard a faint knock, followed by the sound of the door opening. He knew, before he looked up, that it was Harry.

« I come bearing food, » he said as a greeting, walking towards Louis, but stopped in his track before the omega could answer. His gaze fell on Louis and his eyes widened, mouth agape.

« Is everything alright? » Louis asked, worried, taking a step forward.

« _Don’t_ , » Harry almost growled, effectively stopping him.

Louis’ eyes filled up with confusion, scanning over the alpha’s tense body.

« Harry, are you okay? »

« I didn’t… Christ, I can’t, » he said, eyes dark, furthermore deepening Louis’ confusion. He looked down, only to find his hands clutching so tight his knuckles were white, and he could make out the veins under his skin, shades of blue and purple ready to burst with how tight his fists were.

And then he felt it.

Or rather, he smelled it. Strong, and maddening, and so, so primal.

Harry was aroused.

« Harry, » he choked up on the words, taking another step towards him, slowly and carefully, like he’d seen him do before with wild horses he was trying to tame.

Because Harry felt like a wild horse.

« Stay where you are, » Harry warned, voice dropping lower than he’d ever heard it before, but Louis didn’t care, because this was something he didn’t feel for so long, for years and years where he’d tried to hide what he was, mask his scent so it would be easier. Easier at the war, easier with Nick. Easier to be respected, easier for a husband who never felt like he could give him what he really needed. He’d been taking suppressants so naturally it became a part of him.

But not anymore.

And Harry could smell it, and it was driving Louis insane.

No. It was turning him on.

He let out a soft whimper, eyes closed, as he felt his thighs getting wet with slick. It was almost embarrassing.

It would have been.

But Harry was against him now, gripping on his forearms so hard it sent a wave of pain through Louis’ body, his nose hidden against his neck. Smelling him.

« Harry, » he whispered again, because he didn’t trust himself to say anything else.

« _Louis_ , » Harry replied, just as low, and Louis wondered if he knew the effect he had on him. If he was aware of just how wanting he was at that instant.

« _Please_ , » he gave in. « Need… »

The words seemed to snap Harry out of his transe, like their current situation was only now downing on him. He backed away before Louis could protest, eyes wide.

« I’m sorry, I shouldn’t-I shouldn’t have done that, » he said, a hint of panic in his voice.

Louis knew he should reply, say something, but he could only stare, lips tight and heart beating fast.

« I’m sorry, » he said again, and rushed to the door, slamming it behind him harder than he’d probably intended to.

Louis spent an unhealthy amount of time staring at the closed door and the basket on the floor.

* * *

He didn’t come the next day, but Louis was expecting it. Neither did he the day after that, and almost a week went by of Louis eating alone in his surgery.

What Louis wasn’t expecting, however, was for Harry to disappear. He wasn’t at the hall for breakfast, nor was he at the stables the few times Louis passed by. He was surprised that he would go to such extreme lengths simply to avoid him.

But when he asked Mrs. Fitz about it, feigning nonchalance, the woman gave him a weird look before sighing, leaning closer to tell him that the ‘’lad was indisposed’’.

Louis felt his face go red and dug deeper into his omelet.

Harry was going through a rut.

Sometimes, when he had no patient to tend to, he’d go to the gardens to replenish his stock.

Today was one of these times.

He wasn’t necessarily in need for anything. In fact, his closets were as full as they could be. But the injuries and incidents rate had severely dropped, and Harry was still nowhere to be seen, so Louis had taken it to himself to find distraction somewhere else.

He stopped by the kitchens first, offering his help to Mrs. Fitz, but she nicely, although firmly, declined. She was gone in an instant, losing herself in some preparations of sort. Louis would later learn that they were preparing for the Gathering.

Borrowing another one of her baskets, he wandered around the gardens, occasionally picking some herbs he might need. Ultimately, he decided to go further, stepping into the orchard were women were busy picking fruits and chatting to each other.

A bunch of Ascaria mushrooms quickly picked his interest, almost hidden beneath an old tree. He bent down to gather them when a voice came from behind him, unsettling him.

« Those kind are poison, » they said.

He turned around, his eyes falling on one of the most gorgeous men he’d seen so far. He was, if not tall, taller than Louis, with tan skin and hazel eyes that were watching him with a hint of malice.

« I know they are, » he said, standing straight.

« Do you? Who do you need them for, then? Your husband, maybe? Tell me if it works, so I can try it on mine, » he said, his smile mischievous, and Louis found himself smiling back.

« I’ll keep that in mind. They’re not all poisonous, though, » he said, kneeling again to pick up the mushrooms, « It’s just the caps. The fungi are quite efficacious in stopping bleeding. S’why I want them. »

« Are they now? » he kneeled next to him, inspecting the grass. « Well, did you know that those, » he picked a handful of tiny blue flowers and handed them to Louis, « Can start the bleeding? »

« Why would you want to make someone bleed? »

The other man was quiet for a moment, but then his smile grew wider and he leaned in to Louis, as if confiding in him.

« Some people might need it to get rid of a child, you see. Lots of reckless omegas around. They come to see me for such things. » He marked a pause, looking at Louis with an amused expression. « They say I’m a witch. »

« And are you? » Louis thought about Mrs. Duncan and the stones and what Nick had told him about all witches being omegas.

« Am I? » The man answered, eyes bright with something Louis couldn’t guess.

« I thought witchcraft was illegal? »

« It is. But my husband’s the procurator fiscal for the district, you see. I’m a practical sort. I married a beta with a fair house and a good position. As for hair, he doesn’t have any, and as for eyes, I never cared to look, but he doesn’t trouble me much. »

Louis couldn’t help the laugh that escaped his lips. The other man smirked, getting up from the mud before extending his hand to help him.

« Forgot to introduce myself with all that. I’m Zayn, Zayn Malik. »

Louis took his hand, picking up his basket from the ground and dusting himself off.

« Louis. Tomlinson, » he said.

« I know who you are, » Zayn smiled. « The village has been buzzing with talk of you, since you came to the castle. »

Louis’ eyebrows perked at that. He knew that people in the castle would have been talking, but he didn’t know the word had traveled to the village as well.

« If it’s _balgan-buachrach_ you’re looking for, » Zayn said, « I can show you where they grow best. »

Louis accepted the offer, and they wandered together for some time. Zayn was very knowledgeable about the local plants and their medicinal uses, more than most people he’d met – although Mrs. Fitz would give him a run for his money. He also proved to be a pleasant companion, who answered his banter with the same wit and malice. He also seemed to know everything about the village.

« They say young Hamish isn’t his father’s son, » he said at one point, watching Louis to see his reaction.

For some reason, he wasn’t particularily surprised. He’d expected it, although he hadn’t had any confirmation before.

« I figured, » he eventually said.

« Did you? »

« He’s not an alpha, is he? Colum, I mean. »

Zayn gave him a midly impressed look.

« Well observed. »

« And Letitia is an omega, » he continued.

« She is. »

« He couldn’t have gotten her pregnant. »

« There are always chances. »

« But slim. »

He knew it well enough for himself.

« I agree, » Zayn finally said.

« Do you know who’s the father, then? » Louis asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

Zayn’s eyes were bright with mischief, but he didn’t give an answer.

« Will I be seeing you at the Gathering, then? » he asked instead.

Louis took it as a cue to drop the subject.

« What’s that? »

« The Gathering. It’s where all the Mackenzie men throughout the Highlands come and plight their oath to the clan and to Colum. »

« Is it a frequent thing? »

« Nah. Last one was when Colum was made Laird after his father died. »

« So it’s a big event, then? »

« Sort of. Lasts for days, between the games and the dinners and all. Most important part is the oath-taking. »

* * *

For the following days, it became rather obvious to Louis that the whole castle was getting ready for the Gathering. The kitchens were flooded with stocks of food, and the hallways became more and more crowded with Mackenzies coming in – just as Zayn had told him.

Amongst all that, Louis thought his chances of seeing Harry had worsened. He was wrong.

He caught a sight of him at breakfast, one morning. He was already there when Louis arrived, chatting with Murtagh at his right. Louis couldn’t help but notice how tired he looked. He felt his chest tighten at the sight.

As if he felt Louis’ presence, Harry looked up, his eyes falling on him like they were looking for him. Louis offered him a smile, like he hadn’t just caught him staring. He wanted to talk to him, but he wasn’t sure if Harry wanted to, and so he found himself standing in front of the long table, unsure of what to do. That is, until Harry’s lips turned upwards, giving him a tired but genuine smile.

A friendly smile.

A tentative smile.

‘’ _Are we okay?_ ’’ it seemed to say.

‘’ _We are,_ ’’ was Louis’ response as he sat at the table.


	3. 'I touched the stones'

With everyone busy with the Gathering, Louis found his surgery to be empty most of the time, even with the castle being packed with travelers. Everyone else seemed to be much too busy to fall sick, and it didn’t take him long to feel bored, and then, after a few days, trapped. He would try to get away as much as he could, but no amount of sunshine and fresh air could heal him ; he wasn’t trapped in the surgery, not even in the castle. His prison was far bigger, and far beyond his own understandment, or anyone’s for that matter, and he felt completely alone in his misery.

He managed, once or twice, to catch a ride to the village, and met up with Zayn there. It was a nice change from the people he’d met so far ; there was something different about him that made Louis feel safe and wary at the same time, a spark he had in his eyes that seemed to say he had the power to destroy anyone would he wish to, and a warmth that said ‘’but not you’’ to Louis. With him, at least, Louis felt, if only a little, in his place.

« Sometimes, I feel very much the stranger in a stranger land, » he told Zayn once, as they were sitting in Zayn’s chambers. He shot him a sympathetic look.

« It can’t be easy, being a Sassenach in the Highlands, » he said, and Louis would have laughed at how far off his deductions were, but Zayn’s lips twitched upwards ever so slightly. « Assuming that’s what you mean, of course, » he added.

Louis shot him a confused look, but Zayn only smiled in return. He didn’t get to dig in deeper. For some time, he had been aware of noises coming from the street outside, but he hadn’t thought much of it and attributed them to the villagers coming and going. But the noise outside was now much louder, capturing both their attentions as they walked to the window. Zayn’s house stood on the square, his husband being the procurator fiscal. It was a matter of convenience as well as status, the square being often used for judicial matters and, as Dougal had explained once, as an execution place. He could see now a crowd of folk in their church attire, led by Father Bain, a priest that served in the village and, occasionally, in the castle. He was holding a young boy by the forearm, dragging him along to the house, the crowd behind them stopping a few feet behind and rumbling with murmurs and comments. Zayn shut the window, already losing interest in the scene. « Stealing, probably, » he told Louis, who was trying, unsuccesfully, to listen to the converstation inside Zayn’s husband study.

« What will happen to the boy? »

« I’d say it depends on Arthur’s mood, really. If the kid’s lucky, he might get off with a whipping. But, » he made a moue of distate, « I’d say the boy’ll lose an ear or a hand, most like. » « Can’t you do anything? » Louis urged, a slight panic in his voice. « Talk to your husband? »

« Why should you care what happens to him? » Zayn asked, but it was genuine curiosity rather than malice.

« He’s a fucking kid! Whatever he did, surely it’s not worth being mutilated for life? » Zayn raised his brows, unconvinced, but Louis held his gaze, not wanting to give up so easily. After a few seconds, Zayn rolled his eyes and turned his back to him.

« Anything for a friend, I guess, » he said, and Louis held out a sigh of relief. « Can’t promise anything, though, » he warned, walking to the door. « And if that damn priest’s got a hand in, he’ll want the worst sentence possible. »

Louis stayed alone in the room, patience thin as he waited for the verdict. Outside, the crowd had increased, dozens of faces turned expectantly to the door of the house, and the pleasure he could see in some of their faces made Louis sick. He wished he could interfere, protest, but the simple thought of standing against the mob, alone and mostly vulnerable, stripped him of the little courage he had. So he waited, just like they all did, and waited again until Zayn stepped it, face unreadable.

« _Well?_ » he prompted him.

He lifted a shoulder dismissively, closing the door behind him, but a mischievous smile lurked at the corners of his lips. Once the door was closed, he dropped the facade and laughed.

« You should have seen me, » he said. « I was damn good at it. ‘ _Oh, Arthur_ ,’ » he dramatized, « ‘ _Had our own union been blessed_ ’- not one hell of a chance, by the way, » he added, dropping the act for a moment. « _'How would you feel, darling, should your own son be taken so? No doubt it was hunger that made him go to such lenghts. Can’t you find it in your heart to be merciful?_ ’ »

At the same time, the sound of the crowd outside had changed, and Louis moved to the window to see what was happening. The crowd parted, and the boy came out, walking slowly between priest and judge. Arthur, Zayn’s husband, walked with his head high, nodding to some members of the assembly. Father Bain, on the other hand, looked more like a sullen potato. They proceeded to the center of the square, where another man Louis didn’t know met them. The boy was brought to stand on the plinth in the center of the square. He looked pale and frightened, but did not move as his sentence was pronounced.

« He had already confessed by the time I came in, » said a voice by Louis’ ear, startling him. Zayn peered over his shoulder with mild interest. « I couldn’t get him freed completely. Got him off with an hour in the pillory and one ear nailed. »

« _Nailed_? Nailed to what? »

« Why, the pillory, of course, » he said as if it was obvious, ignoring Louis’ horrified look. Right then, the boy uttered a high, thin scream as the nail was driven in, making Louis’ breath hitch. The spectacle was horrid, but more horrid even was the quick loss of interest from the crowd. Less than five minutes later, the square was empty again, except for the occasional curious eye – but these never lasted more than a few seconds. Louis himself had to look away eventually.

It was an hour to sunset when the maid announced, rather unceremoniously, a visitor. Moments later, Harry walked in, offering them a smile.

« Dougal said you’d need a ride to the castle, » he told Louis, explaining his unexpected presence. He nodded at Zayn in lieu of greetings and glanced at the window. Louis followed his gaze and recognized the dark shape of the boy from earlier.

« He’s still here? » Louis asked, confused. It had been hours since his sentence had been pronounced, and it was now raining abundantly over the poor boy’s body.

« How long must he stay there? » he asked Zayn.

« An hour, I told you, » he replied, with little to no interest. « The locksman should have freed him from the pillory by now. »

« He has, » Harry assured. « I saw him on my way here. It’s only the lad’s not got up the courage to tear the nail from his lug yet. »

Louis’ jaw dropped.

« You mean he’s to _tear_ himself loose? »

« Aye, » Harry said, his cheerful tone clashing with Louis’ horrified one. « He’s still a bit nervous, but I imagine he’ll set his mind to it soon. It’s wet out, and growing dark as well. We must leave ourselves, or we’ll get naught but scraps for dinner. »

« Wait, » Zayn said, and turned to Louis, « Now that you have Harry here to take you back, would you mind taking with you a chest of dried marsh cabbages I’ve promised to Mrs. FitzGibbons? Perhaps Mr MacEdwards would be so kind? » he added to Harry’s intention.

Both Louis and Harry assenting, he had a manservant fetch the chest from his workroom and busied himself at a desk for a while. After a few minutes, he held up the note he had been writing, folded and sealed it and pressed it into Louis’ hand.

« That’s the bill. Will you give it to Dougal for me? He’s the one who handles to transactions. Don’t give it to anyone else, or I won’t be paid for weeks. »

« Of course. »

They embraced warmly, and Zayn saw them to the door. Outside, people had gathered again around the pillory, cheering encouragements for the boy to free himself. He eyed Harry’s broad back as he lifted the heavy box with no effort, then glanced back at the plinth. Despite Harry’s cheerful tone earlier, Louis thought him to not be entirely unsympathetic to the boy’s case, if his earlier actions in Colum’s hall of justice were any indicator of his character.

« Mr MacEdwards? » he called hesitantly, but there was no response. He didn’t even seem to hear him.

« Harry? » he tried again, and this time he looked up at once. So it really wasn’t MacEdwards. He wondered what it was.

« Aye? » he said.

« Your fingers, they’re quite strong, I suppose? » he asked, trying not to blush at the double entendre. A half-smile curved his lips and he nodded.

« Could you do it? » Louis asked, glancing at the boy. Harry followed his gaze and stood in silence for a moment, looking between Louis and the boy.

« Aye. You’ll have to draw the crowd away, though. Interference wouldn’t be looked on kindly, and with me being a stranger… »

Louis instantly felt bad. He hadn’t thought of the possibility of putting Harry in danger.

« I, » he hesitated, but Harry now seemed to be full on board with the idea. « We could pretend to want a closer look, and I’d pretend to faint at the sight, » he thought out loud.

« Because you’re so unused to blood and all, » Harry grinned, lifting a brow.

They made their way through the crowd, and Louis got to look at the scene from upclose. There was almost no blood, and the boy didn’t seem to be in pain, although his face was white with fear. Harry edged through the fringe of spectators, and Louis recognized his cue. Taking a step back, he turned away from the pillory, gasping. He took two or three steps and fell down, clutching at the sleeves of those nearby and taking them down with him, conveniently drawing the crowd’s attention as those he held onto started to protest. He rolled on the floor, eyes closed, and listened to the babble of concerned voices around him. The murmurs quickly died down, and a pair of familiar arms raised him to a sitting position. His eyes met Harry’s concerned green ones as he opened them, but a faint look at his side told him that the mission had been accomplished ; the boy had already fled as it was.

« He’ll be alright, » Harry said when the crowd wouldn’t leave, helping Louis up. « He just can’t stand the sight of blood. He’s a little fragile, you see, » he added, and Louis discreetly – but firmly – elbowed him.

« You enjoyed yourself, you little shit, » he said once Harry had carried him out of sight.

« Aye, » he laughed. « Had to make it believable. »

Louis rolled his eyes, but smiled. « Still, thank you. I know it was a risk. »

« Eh, » he dismissed with a shrug. And, a moment later, with a hint of amusement, « You wouldn’t expect me to be less bold than a wee Sassenach lad, now would you? »

He urged the horses into a trot as the shadows of dusk gathered by the roadside. They did not speak much for the rest of the journey home, but when they reached the castle, Harry left him at the gate with a softly mocking « Good evening, Sassenach, » and Louis felt as though their friendship now ran deeper than it did when they last parted.

* * *

Louis met Father Bain again.

He’d noticed Mrs Fitz going up to the village almost as much as he did himself, which was surprising to say the least, considering the woman berely ever left her own kitchen. However, he didn’t think it his place to ask, and so he’d kept his thoughts to himself. That is, of course, until Zayn came up with the answers – and more.

« I went to the little Macneill’s funeral yesterday, » he said conversationally as they were picking up herbs for their supply closets.

« Funeral? » Louis asked absentmindedly, not knowing anyone of that name.

« Poor kid wasn’t twelve yet. His mother came to me not a week ago seeking help, saying he hadn’ long to live. »

« And did you help? »

« Of course not, » he said as if Louis was crazy to event suggest such a thing, « Father Bain was to do his own work, and last thing I would do is get anywhere close that damn man. But now they say young Tammas Baxter, who went up with him to the Black Kirk, is seized with the same evil. »

« Baxter? » Louis asked, the name sounding familiar, but not enough for him to remember.

« Aye. He’s Mrs Fitz’s nephew. Do you want some? » he added, showing him some roots he’d just dug.

« When you say ‘’seized with evil’’, what do you mean? Is he ill? »

« Uh uh, » Zayn said, getting up from where he had been kneeling in the mud. « He’s not ill. He’s possessed. »

« Possessed? » Louis scoffed in disbelief.

« Do you not believe in demonic possession, Louis? » Zayn asked with a smile, as if the question was funny in itself. Maybe it was.

« Do you? » Louis asked instead.

« I believe… » he started, looking at him strangely.

« That there are powers beyond our ken, beyond what we can see, and hear. Beyond what we can understand. People can name it however they want, demon, fairy, angel. Surely, you believe in the powers of magic, don’t you? »

« Haven’t really thought about it, » Louis said, averting Zayn’s gaze.

« Have you never found yourself in a situation that has no earthly explanation? » Zayn asked, and it almost felt like he knew.

« But you have to admit there is a chance that the boy is sick and not possessed, » he said, trying to deflect the subject. « And if he is, then maybe we can help. »

« I doesn’t matter, Louis, » he replied in an almost schooling manner. « What matters is what the people believe. They believe he’s possessed, and therefore he is. You can’t interfere with beliefs, Louis. It never ends well. »

But Louis wasn’t listening anymore.

« Fuck this, » Zayn said, but Louis barely heard him. « I’m not having any part in this, you’re on your own. »

And so he was.

* * *

Mrs Fitz pulled him into a teary hug the moment he proposed to take a look at her nephew. The boy was in such a bad state, she said, nothing they gave him helped. Their last hope was Father Bain who, she explained to Louis in a way too hopeful voice for him not to cringe, was to perform an exorcism later that same day. The simple mention of such a barbaric act had made Louis urge her to lead her to the boy, and there they were now, at the bedside of a white-faced, hallucinating, tied up little boy.

« Why the fuck is he tied? » Louis asked, trying to undo the ropes that were restraining him to the bed.

« In case it gets violent. The demons, you ken » Mrs Fitz said like it was an evidence. At the same moment, the boy started moaning in pain and tried to get up, only to be held back by his restraints.

« Shhh, » Louis soothed, stroking his hair. He then felt his forehead, but there was no sign of fever. Not an infection, then.

« Are his symptoms similar to those of the other boy? » he asked, opening up one of his eyes to examine it.

« Aye, much the same. Wee Lindsay was week to begin with, so the Devil took him much faster. »

But Louis already had the confirmation that it had very little to do with the Devil. His heart rate was slow, and pupils pinpoints, a sign of poisoning.

« Tammas? » he asked the boy, « What have you eaten recently? » But he didn’t answer, grunting in pain, eyes firmly closed.

« Fuck, we need to cut these ropes! » he said, looking around to find anything sharp enough to do the job. Right then, the door flew open, and the swollen figure of Father Bain appeared, all high and mighty. A woman, short and round and very much like Mrs Fitz, came in behind him.

« Who is he? » she asked Mrs Fitz. « Why are you letting a stranger in, in a time like this? » she prompted.

« Mr Tomlinson is a healer, » Mrs Fitz promptly argued back, « And a good one! He may be able to help. » she added, and the conviction in her voice made Louis’ heart swell with gratitude. He looked at the priest, who was reciting words in Latin and throwing water – Holy, Louis rolled his eyes – at the poor little boy.

« Please, he needs to be unbound and let out. I believe I can help him, just give me a chance, » he begged both women, but their eyes were now fixed on Father Bain, mesmerized, and Louis knew he’d lost them.

* * *

Louis went back to the castle with a heavy heart. He couldn’t allow himself to simply do nothing ; leaving the boy in the priest’s hands would be like handing him to Death herself, of that he was certain. But he didn’t know what else he could do, or even if he could do anything by himself. Zayn was set on doing nothing this time, refusing to interfere in such matters. That was a common thing in people here, Louis had quickly learned. No one ever interfered, no one ever stepped up, no one ever went against the rules. And then it was like something lit up inside his brain. He did have someone to count on. Someone who would interfere, someone who would help him. He had Harry.

Never before had he looked for someone with such haste. He wasn’t at the Hall, nor was he outside. Those who had seen him couldn’t agree on a place, and no one had caught sight of him after dusk, so they were pretty much useless. Thankfully, Rupert –one of the men that he’d met before coming to Leoch, and who he’d suspected of following him under the Laird’s orders- gave in, albeit because of the incredible amount of alcohol he’d downed, and gave him an approximation of where Harry’s room was. It wasn’t the most reliable, but it was better than searching up the whole castle. However, once he reached the east wing, he stopped, unsure of what to do next. There were a dozen of rooms in there and no indication on which was Harry’s, or which wasn’t. He sighed, peaking with not much conviction at the few doors that were open, but with obviously no result. He had practically given up, ready to go back to the dining hall when he heard it. It was a faint giggle coming from the hallway at his left, one that became increasingly clear as seconds went by. Louis felt an unexplainable pang at his chest, and he barely had the time to hide behind a beam when they came in. He knew who it was, of course, it hadn’t been hard to guess. And yet, he stilled at the sight. Harry was standing there, unaware of Louis’ presence, kissing someone, touching someone, someone who had their back to Louis, but he’d easily recognize those blonde locks anywhere. It was the girl whose punishment Harry had taken, the same girl he’d claimed he didn’t know, and there she was, showing him her gratitude in the most effective way possible. And then she giggled again, and Louis felt the urge to leave.

He took a step in the opposite direction from them, standing still long enough to make sure they hadn’t noticed him before doing it again. Slowly, but surely, he walked away from them, taking every step backwards, unable to take his eyes away – from fear to be noticed, or from something else entirely. But then, right as he thought he’d made it, right as he thought he could turn the corner and walk away for good, Harry looked up and his eyes instantly locked with Louis’. He stilled, and so did Harry. They stayed like that for God knows how long, staring, unable to look away, unable to walk away. And then, the girl kissed Harry again, unaware of what was happening, unaware of Louis’ presence, breaking the charm, and Louis fled.

* * *

Louis thought Harry was avoiding him, but he had no way to make sure of it, because he was avoiding him himself. He wasn’t actively running away from him, but he’d conveniently made it so that they would meet as little as possible, and it seemed as if Harry had done the same on his side. However, he quickly realized that the situation couldn’t last. For one, Harry was the only person in the castle, besides Mrs Fitz, who would have any kind of conversation with him. Secondly, and speaking of Mrs Fitz, he needed help to try and save her nephew, and it seemed as if Harry had unofficially became his partner in crime when it came to this kind of things. And so, he needed to speak to Harry. Again. As he’d expected, he wasn’t in the stables when he went to look for him, and he wasn’t sure where else he could look for him. They’d usually meet by accident turning a corner or climbing a flight of stairs and stick together for the rest of it, as if their meetings were nothing but happy coincidences, and maybe they were. But Louis had no time for coincidences now, not when a boy’s life was in danger. He tried to catch his attention during meals, but he was purposefully avoiding his gaze and never sticking around long enough for Louis to make a move without everyone evesdropping around them. Moreover, the girl had taken it upon herself to fill the empty space at the table next to Harry – which used to be Louis’ place – and he didn’t want to make their encounter even more awkward by adding her to the conversation.

It wasn’t until the day after that a solution appeared before his eyes, one so simple he cursed himself for not thinking of it earlier. Because of how little work he’d had, he’d came down to the kitchen to see if he could be of any use to Mrs Fitz. The poor woman was going mad, what with the amount of work she had in preparation for the Gathering, and spending every other hour at her nephew’s side, and yet she practically threw him away the second he’d mentioned helping her.

« You, lad, » she’d said, « Are of no use in there. I’m grateful enough you’ve been taking care of the ills or else I would barely get anything done. » And then, as Louis insisted, she added, « If ye really want to be useful, stick to your surgery. I’ve got my lasses working in here and the wee Charlie lad doing errands when I need him, you’ve naught to worry about. »

‘’Wee Charlie’’ was one of the multiple kids who’d run around the castle all day, delivering messages and carrying whatever Mrs Fitz needed in exchange of an extra slice of pie or a bowl of porridge. He was the one who usually brought Louis lunch when he was absent from the table, and although Louis had barely ever spoken to him, he thought it was worth a try. Charlie was fairly easier to find than Harry, and easier to convince as well. The promise of freshly baked biscuits was enough to send him running, and Louis laid back, satisfied with himself.

It took less than an hour for Harry to burst inside the surgery, his expression torn between panic and worry. His eyes quickly fell on Louis and his expression turned into a confused one.

« Charlie said you were hurt, » he said, looking him up and down as if he’d expected to suddenly see him bleeding open.

« Oh, but I am, » Louis said, repressing a smile. « Anyone would be, if you’d worked so hard on avoiding them. And probably a little flattered. But mostly, hurt. »

« You… Tricked me? » Harry asked after a moment, seemingly realising there was nothing wrong with Louis. Well, as far as he was concerned.

« Sorry, » he half-apologized, « I didn’t know how else to talk to you. »

« You need something? » Harry asked warily, and Louis felt a little offended that he’d think he would only talk to him if he needed something. Then again, he wasn’t wrong.

« I do, actually, » he admitted. « But we need to talk first. »

Harry tensed at the words. It seemed like he was going to say something, but decided against it and looked at Louis. « Aye, alright, » he said after a moment. « I apologize if I hurt you, » he said, and the slight curl of his lips as he said the word ‘hurt’ didn’t go unnoticed. « And I apologize for my behavior earlier as well. »

« Do you? » Louis wondered, because he didn’t think he would be apologizing for kissing someone else.

« I meant before that, » Harry muttered, and Louis looked away as understandment dawned on him. They were _talking_ talking, then. « It was not the proper thing to do, » he continued. « I wasn’t expec- »

« Apologies accepted, » Louis rushed, the embarrassing memory of his own eagerness resurfacing. « Can we just pretend none of this happened and be friends again? » « Please? » he added for good measure.

« You confuse me sometimes, Sassenech, » Harry said, and it was as good a friendship declaration as he could get.

* * *

« It’s… Not what I expected, » Louis said.

It hadn’t been hard to convince Harry to take him to the Black Kirk. He had an inkling that the answer to all his questions would be there. After all, it was the only link between the first boy’s death and the second one’s sickness that he was aware of. And because it was so linked to death in his mind, he’d half expected it to be some gloomy, dreary, dangerous cave. It was in reality nothing but a heap of ruins, with a few walls still standing in the middle of an otherwise deserted plain, except for the few trees here and there and the talls plants that hung onto the stone and blocked the sun’s rays.

« Well, they say Satan’s clever. He’d hardly catch any unsuspecting soulds if he laif his traps in bogs and tunnels. »

« You don’t actually believe demons live in this place? » Louis asked in disbelief.

« Well, I know wee Lindsay and Tammas are not the first lads to get ill after a visit up here, » he shrugged. « Visiting the Black Kirk is like a rite of passage for young lads, a way to prove your manhood. »

« Don’t tell me you actually did it too? » Louis’ eyebrows rose as he asked.

« I did, » Harry replied, his eyebrows joining in the middle. « I’m not an idiot, » he said defensively. « I had a good tutor, and a fairly good education, I believe, although maybe not as good as yours. But I’m also a Highlander, born and bred, » he said, as if it explained everything. Maybe it did.

Louis smiled apologetically. « So when you would come here as a boy to prove your manhood, » he smirked, « What exactly would you do? »

« There’s not really much to do. Wander a bit, climb the walls, » he said, jumping on top of the ruins. Louis followed him with a laugh. « Defy the devil by pissing on the stones, » he chuckled. « If you’re lucky you might find some berries or wood garlic to eat. »

« Wood garlic? » Louis wondered, looking around. It didn’t look like the right place for wood garlic to grow. « Can you show me some? »

« Aye, » Harry said easily. « Here, » he said, leading Louis to the base of one of the old walls.

Louis kneeled, examining the plant with worry. He was right.

« That’s not wood garlic, » he told Harry, who had been watching him closely. « The leaves are similar, but the flowers are different. See, in wood garlic, the flowers are star-like, kind of open, but here they’re more bell-shaped. It’s _convallaria majalis_ , lily of the valley. »

« Lily of the valley? » Harry mused. « Never heard of it. »

« Well, it’s not native to Scotland, » Louis said, and then stopped to think. It _was_ weird that the plant was there. « The monks that built this place, » he turned to ask Harry. « Were they from Germany by any chance? »

Harry frowned at him. « Germany? »

« Fuck, » Louis muttered. « Prussia, I mean. »

Harry watched him with curiosity. « Aye, » he finally said.

* * *

When he got to Mrs Fitz’s sister house, Father Bairn was there again. The woman, along with Mrs Fitz herself, were standing in a corner of the room, looking frightfully over the priest who was reciting latin words over the unconscious boy’s body.

« The poor bairn is nearly gone, » Mrs Fitz whispered.

« Satan has claimed his body, » her sister said, and Louis refrained from rolling his eyes. « Father Bain can only hope to save his immortal soul. »

Louis turned to Mrs Fitz, deciding she was still the most reasonable of the two. « I think I can save his life, » he said, watching as her grim expression turned into a stunned one. « What’s killing him is no demon, it’s lily of the valley. It’s a poisonous plant, but it looks exactly the same as wood garlic. I can still save him, » he assured, « But we have to move quick. »

« What blasphemy is this? » a deep, gravelly voice said behind him. He turned to face Father Bairn, who had given up his spot next to Tammas and was now watching with an inquisitive gaze.

« Father, I mean no blasphemy, » Louis tried carefully, but the man interrupted him right away, his voice growing louder and louder as he spoke, his anger and indignation building up.

« _I_ am the lord’s disciple! You are not ordained to drive away the demon. Now, leave this house this instant! »

Louis shut his eyes for a second, trying to calm himself. That was the moment where he should have lowered his head and resigned himself to giving up, to obeying. That was not only wanted but expected from him. Except he wasn’t like any other omegas in there. He’d lived the war, and it had toughened him up in the worst ways possible. He had learned how to take command as well as to ignore it. He had learned to shut down his instincts in order to save a live. And that was what he was going to do.

« The boy’s problem is poison, not a demon, » he spat. « Try to keep me away from him, and he will die. »

His reaction was obviously not the one any of them had expected, and silence followed his words, the priest too stunned to respond right away.

« Let him pass, father, » someone said, and Louis turned to look at Mrs Fitz who was speaking with determination in her eyes, although her voice was shaking slightly. Father Bairn seemed to regain his senses at that.

« I will not be ordered around by an _omega_ , » he said angrily, disgust obvious in his voice. « This boy is a slave to Satan, and must be purged or have his soul doomed to eternal damnation. »

« This, » Mrs Fitz said, and there was no tremble in her voice anymore. « Is my sister’s house, and my father’s before that. » She said each word in a modulated tone, walking past Louis until she was head to head with the priest. « And we’ll decide what is done under its roof. »

Louis had never been more scared of the woman than he was now. She was standing her ground, looking at the priest defiantly as he stared back, stunned to silence.

« Tend to the boy, » she told Louis without even looking at him. Grateful, he walked past them, but was stopped in his track as the man gripped his elbow.

« I smell the vapors of hell on you, » he spat with disgust, but Louis held his gaze without a word until he let go of him. He sat on the bed next to the small boy, pulling out a vial from his pocket. He opened it carefully, pouring it slowly between his lips. A small sob coming from the corner of the room reminded him of the mother’s presence and he turned to look at her.

« It’s a decoction of belladonna, » he said, although he knew the woman probably didn’t understand any of it. « It should normalize his heart rate, lower his blood pressure, and bring him back to consciousness within moments. »

But if he had gotten it wrong, it would cause convulsions and kill the boy almost as quickly. He held his breath, and it seemed like everyone in the room was doing the same. For a whole minute, nothing happened, the anxiousness in the room building up until it became unbearable. And then, finally, the boy groaned, ever so slightly, and his eyes fluttered open.

« Ma… » he called weakly, and his mother was immediately by his side, crying and kissing his face. Louis finally let out the breath he was holding, letting himself bask in relief as the woman held her boy tightly, looking between them all as if she didn’t know who to talk to first, who to thank.

« It’s a miracle, Father, » she cried.

« God bless you, my boy, » Mrs Fitz said in turn, holding Louis’ face, and hugged him tightly. He felt the tears prickle at the corners of his eyes and hugged her back, soothed by the woman’s embrace.

When he backed away, Father Bairn was at the door, observing him, his gaze hard.

« Satan may like to make a fool of God, » he said to Louis’ attention. « But God will have the last word. »

His words hung long after he left, menacing.

* * *

« It’s like he would have rather the boy died than me saving him, » Louis told Harry the next day. He was brushing one of the horses’ mane while the scotsman cleaned his hooves, listening to Louis’ tale of the events.

« Aye, » he said as if what Louis had said was obvious. « A man’s beliefs are how he makes sense of life, and if you take that away, you’ve nothing left. Is it that different where you come from? »

Louis thought about it for a moment. « I suppose not, » he said.

« Well, if it makes you feel better, Mrs Fitz calls you ‘ _neach-obrach miorbhail_ ’. »

Louis raised a brow at the use of Gaelic and Harry smiled before translating.

« _The miracle worker_ , » he explained, and Louis scoffed.

« Good Lord, just what I needed. »

« And I hear Colum’s taking credit for bringing you on as healer to the Mackenzies. I doubt he’ll want to see you leave anytime soon, » Harry added conversationally.

Louis’ eyes shot up at that. He’d been so busy lately, whether it was with the surgery, Zayn, Mrs Fitz or Harry himself that he had momentarily forgotten that he shouldn’t be there to begin with. He knew he should have been looking more effectively for ways of leaving, but he had no idea how to get back to his own time even if he managed, somehow, to get away from the Mackenzies’ reach.

« I’ll never get out of here, » he sighed, more to himself than for anyone else to hear. 

* * *

That evening, he almost stayed in his room. He knew the whole castle would be sitting at the Hall. The Gathering was approaching and Colum had taken it to himself to provide entertainment for his guests almost every night, whether it was stories, sonsg, or the music of harp or pipes. But tonight, he didn’t feel like going into a room full of people who would have probably heard of his exploits by now, if Harry’s words were to be taken for it. He had no doubt the suspiscious gazes that had been following him, although discreetly, so far, would now have no restraints. He had performed what they could only call a miracle, and it had, more than ever, tightened his bonds to this place. These thoughts didn’t seem to want to leave his mind, and it was that, more than anything, that made him finally join in, lured in by the oblivion promised by Colum’s Rhenish.

He was aware of the stares he was receiving the second he walked in. At the upper end of the Hall, a slender man was seated on a stool, tuning the harp he was holding. Louis recognized him as Gwyllyn the bard. He had already been there when Louis first arrived, and he would occasionally tell tales in music. He was, all in all, an insignificant-looking man, but you didn’t see him once he began to sing. He only served as a focus, a place for the eyes to rest while the ears enjoyed themselves, and even though Louis didn’t understand a word from what he said, but he felt like the music spoke enough for itself.

« Didn’t you see me waving at you? » a low, husky voice said from beside him, and he turned to look at Harry. « Almost reinjured my arm, » he added jokingly, and handed Louis a glass of wine. A few tentative notes signaled the beginning of the entertainment, and Harry led them both to a pair of empty seats.

The song was a simple one, accompanied by the merest touch of his harp strings, the vibration of each string carrying the echo of the words. Simple, yes, but deceptively so, and the sound went straight through Louis, echoing inside his head. He felt a pang of regret at not being able to understand the words, but then Harry started to speak, as if reading his thoughts.

« This one is about a man out late on a fairy hill on the eve of Samhain who hears the sound of a woman singing sad and plaintive from the rocks of the hill, » he explained in a whisper.

« ‘ _I’m a woman of Balnain. The folk have stolen me over again’, the stones seemed to say_ , » he translated to Louis’ ear, his voice barely a whisper.

« _’I stood upon the hill, and wind did rise, and the sound of thunder rolled across the land.’_ » Louis closed his eyes, feeling a shiver run through his body that had very little to do with Harry’s proximity.

« _I placed my hands upon the tallest stone and traveled to a far distant land, where I lived for a time among strangers who became lovers and friends._ » Louis was certain he could hear his own heartbeat, loud as day.

« _But one day, I saw the moon came out, and the wind rose once once more. So I touched the stones._ » Louis’ eyes shot open and he stared as Gyllyn’s fingers flew over the harp.

« _I touched the stones_ , » Harry continued, unaware of Louis’ turmoil.

« _And traveled back to my own land, and took up again with the man I had left behind._ » The song ended there. The last notes were drowned under the warm flood of applause, and the singer launched into another, but Louis’ mind was elsewhere. He couldn’t describe the rush of emotions that took over him if he’d tried. Confusion, fear, loss, and for the first time in a long while, hope.

« She came back through the stones? » he turned to Harry, trying to control the emotion in his voice.

« Aye, she did. They always do. »

He knew it was merely a folktale, one of these Highlander stories he’d normally condemn the same way he did with their tales of fairies and demons. And yet, it had to be somewhat real. Half of the story had happened to him. But what about the other half? The part where the woman returned home? He hadn’t dared to think of going back to the stones, convinced it wouldn’t work, or worse, take him to yet another period in time, maybe one far more dangerous. But the woman came back. He snatched Harry’s wine glass from his hands and downed it shakily, his own already empty, ignoring the curious glances Harry was giving him. He knew, now, that he couldn’t wait any longer for a solution to show itself. He had to escape Castle Leoch and get back to the stones, or die trying.


	4. I'm going home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I'm sorry this chapter took longer than usual, I had to take a pause so I could focus on my studies and exams. Now that all of this is over, though, here is a brand new chapter that I hope you will like!

It was hard to think of anything else now that Louis knew there was a possibility of going back to his own time, his own people, his own family and his own husband. Getting back to the stones was all that was in his mind, but it felt more impossible now than it had ever been. The festivities preceding the big oath-taking night had started, filling the castle with strangers and constant movement, and Colum had assigned two of the men Louis had met on his first night in this century to watch him day and night. They weren’t sleek, and did not try much concealing their spy work. They laughed at Louis’ exasperation and smirked at his huffs whenever he turned a corner and found them waiting. They weren’t bad guys per se, but they were clansmen of Colum, and not to be trusted. Fortunately for him, they weren’t the brightest of the clan, and already his mind was starting to put together the pieces of his escape plan.

He’d already gotten a fair knowledge of the castle and its surroundings since he got there, and his outings with Zayn served to cement the memories that started to fade. Under the pretense of looking for some herb or seed, he’d wander at the edges of the castle, near the forest, and make a mental note of the guards posted around, their number, their placement, anything that would be useful to him. He knew he would have to take his chance quick, while the Gathering kept everyone’s attention and his absence would take time to be noticed. He didn’t have bags to pack, nor personal belongings he’d cling onto, and no one to say goodbye to. Almost no one, at least.

He had wished to see Harry one last time before the big night, but he was nowhere to be found. He’d gone to the stables more than once, for various pretenses, and not always for the sole purpose to see Harry. He was never there.

« Lad’s no here. Best to leave Harry to his own thoughts today, lad, » he’d been told when he dared to ask after him at the stables.

« I didn’t know I was a bother to him, » he frowned.

« I dinna ken if you’re a bother, and I dinna care. All I’m saying is that young Harry is best left alone while the Gathering’s on. »

Louis couldn’t manage to gather more out of the man, nor from anyone. Still, his trips to the stables hadn’t been completely useless, and, under the pretense of picking one for the upcoming hunt, he’d quickly gotten acquainted with the horses there. He didn’t dare to ride them, in case that would awaken suspicions from his guards, but he was fairly confident in his ability to do so. He just needed to pick the right one.

His guards weren’t the only ones whose suspicions he’d had to dodge. Zayn had visited him at his surgery in the morning of his planned escape, and was quick to notice the stocks of food Louis had tried to keep in preparation for the long journey that was awaiting him.

« Louis, are you with bairn? » Zayn had asked, with that same sparkle in his eyes he’d often had. « Are you eating for two? »

« Pardon me? » Louis laughed. « You think that simply because I have a store here, then I’m pregnant? »

« Perhaps that’s why you want to go back to France so badly, » Zayn continued with a smile. « An illegitimate pregnancy? » he said, and his voice was almost hopeful.

Louis’ heart tightened.

« I can assure you I’ve never been unfaithful to my husband. »

« But it’s not unfaithful if he’s dead, » Zayn said as if it was obvious. Of course, Zayn wouldn’t know. « Isn’t he..? » he added when Louis said nothing.

« He’s… Not alive, » Louis said, for that was the closest thing to reality.

« So he’s… Dead? » Zayn said slowly, as if speaking to a child.

Louis closed his eyes, trying to stop the overflow of memories that rose to his mind. Now wasn’t the time to let it weaken him. He would be back with him soon.

« He’s dead, » he finally said.

« And the two of you never had children? » Zayn pushed.

« He was a beta, » Louis answered instead.

A flash of recognition passed through Zayn’s eyes, but he had the decency to say nothing on the matter, and instead turned to Louis’ potions stock.

« You have trouble sleeping? » he asked, holding up the mixture Louis had been working on to his nose. « Valerian root? » he smelled, and Louis nodded. « I use it as well, except I boil my root first. »

« I was wondering about the proper dosage, » Louis asked, seeing his chance. « How much do you take? »

« Oh, I don’t. I put it in Arthur’s tea, then I sleep like a newborn, » he smirked, and Louis couldn’t help but laugh. « Careful, though. You have enough here to put a whole army to sleep. »

 _Not a whole army_ , Louis thought. Just _two men._

Later that night, all the fighting men of the Mckenzie clan would gather in the Hall and make their oaths of allegiance to Colum. No one would be watching the stables. No one would notice his absence. Tonight would be his one and only chance to escape Leoch.

* * *

The gallery was lit by pine torches, brilliant flares that rose straight up in their sockets. The walls were decked with myrtle branches, yew and holly, and the fragrance of the evergreens rose up into the gallery, mingled with the smoke of fires and the harsh reek of men, all clad in some version of the clan tartan, be it only a plaid or a tartan bonnet worn above ordinary working shirt and tattered breeches. There were more people in the Hall than Louis had ever seen, laughing and shouting and drinking, as if each one of them wanted to be louder than the other, all to the rhythm of the bagpipes who were filling the air with their music. Everyone seemed to be there, all but Colum, who would make his entrance any minute now, and Harry, who seemed to have disappeared from the surface of the Earth.

Louis pushed those thoughts away, refusing to be distracted by anything. He couldn’t afford that, not now. Surely, Harry was fine. Surely, he was worrying for nothing.

He recognized a few faces there. His two guards, obviously, were standing a few feet away from him. Dougal was standing next to the wall, Hamish running around him. Leoghaire was sitting in a corner, her blond locks braided on the side of her head. She was wearing a pale pink dress that only accentuated her youthful traits, and Louis couldn’t stand looking at her for too long. Murtagh was there as well, talking to some man Louis didn’t know and already well into his ale cup. Mrs Fitz was walking around the Hall, supervising the event she had worked so hard to put in place, and she didn’t look much displeased. She had insisted on dressing Louis for the occasion, and he’d let her, not really keen to tell her he wouldn’t stay long in there anyway. Once again, his outfit was far different from those of the fighting men of Colum. More, well, _delicate_. He’d indulged in it, though. If it made the woman happy, he could at least smile through it.

The room fell abruptly silent, and Louis turned to watch as the doors opened. In the dead silence of the Hall, Colum MacKenzie stepped out from the upper archway, and strode purposefully to a small platform that had been erected at the head of the room. The entire Hall held its breath as he took center stage. He turned to face the assembled clansmen, raised his arms and greeted them with a ringing shout that the clansmen gave back in a roar. There was a short speech next, given in Gaelic. Louis understood none of the words that came out of his mouth then, for his short stay in the Highlands did nothing for his Gaelic knowledge, but as soon as he finished talking the room burst out in cheers and roars and applause. Louis applauded too, for good measure, although he did not know why.

Then, Dougal detached himself from the rest of the crowd and walked toward Colum. Silence took over once again, and Louis watched with curiosity the exchange between the two brothers.

Dougal stopped two feet away from the Laird. He stood there for a second, then drew his dirk with a flourish and sank to one knee, holding the dirk upright by the blade. His voice was less powerful than Colum’s, but loud enough so that every word rang through the hall.

« I swear, » he said, « By the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, and by the holy iron that I hold, to give you my fealty and to pledge you my loyalty to the name of clan Mckenzie. And if ever I shall raise my hand against you in rebellion, I ask that this holy iron shall pierce my heart. »

He pressed his lips against the iron and put it back in his belt before standing up again. Louis watched with interest as Colum raised both his hands. Dougal took them in his and kissed them as well, and for a short moment Louis thought that was it, but then, turning, Colum picked up a silver quaich from its place on the tartan covered table behind him. He lifted the cup with both hands, drank from it, and offered it to Dougal. Dougal took a healthy swallow and handed back the cup. Then, with a final bow to the laird of the clan MacKenzie, he stepped to one side, and the crowd started applauding again, but their applause was much more reserved now, more polite.

The men quickly formed a line in front of Colum, with Niall, one of Louis’ _personal guards_ , at their head. The other one was not too far down the line, thankfully, and Louis waited patiently for them to finish their turn, repeating the same words Dougal had said.

« So, the oaths, they’re all the same? » he asked once they found him again.

« Aye, » said Niall proudly.

« Well then, if you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all, huh? » he said, and turned towards the door.

« Where do you think you’re going? » Liam, the other one, prompted.

« To bed? I don’t see the point in staying. »

« But Dougal said we must stay by your side at any time, » he protested.

« Well, that’s not my problem, is it? »

For a moment, Louis thought they might just let him go and get back to the festivities. Of course, they didn’t.

« Can’t you see fit to stay? » Niall asked. « At least a little more? »

« Well… » Louis feigned to think. « I supposed I can stay a little longer, » he sighed. « If I must. »

He then pulled out a flask from his pocket, pretending to ignore the surprise in his guards’ face.

« Might as well join in, » he said, and took a seemingly big gulp before handing it to the two men.

« Now, that’s more in the spirit! » Niall exclaimed happily, processing to drink half the bottle in one go. As soon as their attention was on the drink, Louis turned away and spit out the small amount he’d kept in his mouth.

« That’s no rhenish, » Niall said after drinking.

« It’s port, » Louis smiled. « It’s very expensive. »

« ‘Tis very strong. »

« ‘Tis, » Louis chuckled. « It’s a sedative, » he then whispered.

« Is that Spanish? »

That was way too easy.

« Well go, then. Don’t let me keep you. Keep the wine, share it with your friends. »

And so they did. Louis gave them a maximum of ten minutes before they’d fall asleep.

He counted twelve, for good measure, and left the Hall. He ran to the surgery, packing the few provisions he’d need. All was going according to plan, and he could almost taste his freedom.

Looking behind him one last time, he opened the surgery door, and came face to face with Leoghaire. He let out a surprised gasp and hurried his packs behind him.

« Leoghaire! What are you doing here? »

« I’m sorry if I’m troubling you… » the young girl said, looking everywhere but at Louis. « Um, I… Well, I was wondering if you had a potion that might open a lad’s heart to a lassie, » she babbled, looking more embarrassed at every word. « A potion, or maybe a brew that would… »

« You want a love potion? » Louis said, confused.

« I dinna mean to offend you, I-I just thought… You aid so many with your healing, maybe you’d have something in your knowledge that would… Help a lass get a lad’s attention. »

And then, Louis got it.

« Harry? »

She didn’t reply, but the look in her eyes said enough. Louis sighed.

« You didn’t seem to have much trouble with it last time I saw you two together, » he said, his words coming out more cutting than he’d wanted them to be.

« Not for that, » the girl blushed. « I just- It’s to move his heart forward. »

And in that moment, she looked so sad, so desperate and so _young_ that Louis took pity, regardless of how himself might feel about it. But it wasn’t like he could actually do anything to help her.

« Wait there, » he said, and walked back inside. He looked through his stocks until he found what he was looking for; _dried horse dung_ , left there by his predecessor. Completely harmless, if only a little odorant. Harry wouldn’t notice the difference anyway.

« Here, » he told her. « Sprinkle that at his doorstep, close your eyes and tap your heels together three times, » he made up, saying whatever came to his mind, « and recite _‘There’s no place like love’_.»

At least, she left happy.

* * *

An hour past first dark, Louis left the castle. He stretched out his ear for any noise as he approached the stable, but the only sounds were those of the festivities happening inside. He pushed the door of the stables open and walked inside, scanning the place to try and find his way, but the dark made it hard to see anything beyond his own hand.

He walked slowly, hands outstretched to find something to guide him, but found only air. But then his feet touched something solid on the floor, and the next second he found himself rolling on the ground with a sizable silhouette over him and someone’s breath tickling his ear.

« _Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ_ , » he gasped, feeling the unmistakable steel of a dagger against his neck.

At the sound of his voice, his assailant seemed to relax his grasp.

« No, Sassenech. Just me, » said the deep, soft, familiar voice of Harry, and Louis allowed himself to relax in relief.

There was stirring in the straw, and Harry stood up, reaching down a hand for Louis to do the same.

« How far did you think you’d get, on a dark night and a strange horse, wi’ half the MacKenzie clan after you by morning? » he said dryly.

« They wouldn’t be after me, » Louis replied, slightly offended. « They’re all up at the Hall, and if one in five of them is sober enough to stand by morning, let alone ride a horse, I’ll be most surprised. »

Harry laughed, adding to Louis’ irritation.

« So you’re running away on a whim just because the men are drunk? » he asked.

« _On a whim_? You knew I wanted to leave here for weeks! »

« In any case, you could scarcely have chosen a worse night to try to escape, » Harry went on, ignoring Louis’ intervention. « Colum has guards posted all round the castle and scattered through the woods, and every good horseman for miles around is here for the Gathering. You didn’t think he’d just leave the castle undefended on a night like this?»

Louis opened his mouth to reply, but he realised Harry was right. He’d thought tonight would be the perfect night to escape, when it was actually the worst. Fuck.

« I don’t care. I need to leave this place! » he cried out, but he already knew he couldn’t, now. He felt tears prickle at the corner of his eyes at the thought that all his efforts were for nothing. He was back to step one, back to the fucking castle, back to the eighteenth fucking century.

« Come along, » Harry said, putting a hand on Louis’ arm. His voice was gentle, and he had obviously noticed Louis’ distress. « I’ll take you back up to the castle. »

Louis pulled away from him, anger and frustration boiling up inside of him.

« Don’t bother, » he said ungraciously. « I can find my own fucking way. »

But Harry took none of it. Instead, he took Louis’ elbow with considerable firmness, forcing him to walk out of the stables.

« I don’t doubt it. But you’ll not want to meet any of Colum’s guards alone. »

« Oh yeah, and why not? » Louis snapped. « What, I’m not allowed to walk outside the castle now? Is it against the law? »

« No, Sassenech, » Harry replied, and his voice sounded tired, almost defeated. « But by now the men must be all drunk, and a drink is not a very good adviser when a small, sweet omega comes on you alone in the dark. »

« I came on you in the dark, alone, » Louis replied, grateful that the dark of the night concealed his burning cheeks. They were almost at the doors of the castle now. « And I’m _not_ small. Nor sweet, » he added as an afterthought. 

« Aye, well, I was asleep, not drunk. And you’re still smaller than most of Colum’s guards. »

Feeling that the question of his size would be a lost cause, he tried another route.

« And why the hell were you sleeping in the stables? » he asked instead.

They were in the outer reaches of the kitchen gardens by now, and Louis could see Harry’s face in the faint light. He was intent, checking the stone arches carefully, but he glanced sharply aside at this.

« I thought I’d be better out of the way, » he said after a long silence. Louis waited for him to explain, but he didn’t.

« Why aren’t we going through the entry? »

« There’s a tunnel near the kitchen. You’ll make less fuss going through there. »

« So you’re not coming? » Louis looked up, stopping in his track.

« I told you, » Harry said, averting his eyes. « I’m better out of the way. »

« You don’t want to swear allegiance to Colum, » Louis realised.

Harry looked away.

They had almost reached the said tunnel when a hand suddenly clasped over Louis’ mouth from behind, and he was jerked off his feet. He tried to break free, but his captor was, as much as he hated to admit, a good deal larger than he was, and with the way he was holding him, his feet could barely touch the ground. He could hear Harry struggle next to him as well, but not for long, and the grunting ceased abruptly with an unfamiliar laugh.

« Well then, if it’s not the young lad, Colum’s nephew. Come late to the oath-taking? And who’s that, heh? » the guard said, turning to Louis, who was still being held, with a disgustingly appreciative look.

« He’s with me, » Harry said defensively.

« Is he, now? » the man holding Louis laughed, and forced his head to the side to smell his neck.

« I said _he’s with me_ , » Harry repeated, and all of them stilled at the slight menace in his voice.

Louis felt a sudden urge of appreciation for Harry’s presence as the man released him. But instead of letting them go, he attached himself to Harry’s side, moving purposefully towards the gates.

« Well then, » one of them said, « You must hurry if you don’t want to be late to the oath-taking, heh? »

They were holding him firmly, and Louis was certain part of it was his own fault, or at least a payback for the way Harry took his defense.

« Let me go and change first, man, » Harry attempted. « I’m no decent to be going into the oath-taking like this. »

« Dinna worrit yourself about that, laddie, » the guard said, surveying Harry with a gleaming eye. « We’ll outfit ye proper —inside. »

And so they did.

* * *

They hustled him into a small lighted room, Louis following closely. It was one apparently used for storage; odds and ends of all kinds littered the tables and shelves with which it was furnished. One of them surveyed Harry critically, with an eye to the oatstraws in his hair and the stains on his shirt. Louis saw his glance flicker to the oatstraws in his own hair, and a cynical grin split his face.

« No wonder you’re so late, heh, » he said. « Willie! » he immediately called to one of the men outside, leaving no room for Louis to voice his offense. « We need some clothes, here. Something suitable for the laird’s nephew. »

Harry looked around, thin-lipped, at the men surrounding him. Six clansmen, all in tearing high spirits at the prospect of the oath-taking and brimming over with a fierce MacKenzie pride. He seemed to realise there was no way for him to escape this, and his expression turned grim. He shrugged and submitted with a fair show of grace to Willie, who rushed up with a pile of snowy linen in his arms and a hairbrush in one hand. The pile was topped by a metal badge that held a sprig of holly. The badge was round and the engraving surprisingly fine. It showed five volcanos in the center, spouting most realistic flames. And on the border was a motto, _Luceo non Uro_.

« _I shine, not burn_ , » Louis said, translating aloud.

« I cannot wear that, » Harry said, glancing at the badge with disfavor. « I’m not even a Mackenzie. »

« I’m sorry, » Louis apologized. « If it hadn’t been for me… »

« Nah, don’t worry about that, » Harry shrugged. « Do you know what my clan’s motto is? »

« No. I don’t even know what your clan is » Louis smiled, although sadly, recognising Harry’s change of subject for what it was.

« _Je suis prêt_ , » he replied, and Louis sensed a hint of pride in his voice.

He glanced back, to see Willie and another large MacKenzie, faces flushed with high spirits and spirits of another kind, advancing with solid purpose. Willie held a huge length of MacKenzie tartan cloth.

« You better go find a place at the Hall, » Harry said to Louis’ attention. « I’ll be here in a moment, » he said with a wry smile.

Louis nodded and turned, making his way back towartd the stairs, carefully avoiding and clansman he saw.

_Je suis prêt. I am ready._

He just hoped he was.

* * *

The oath-taking was still going on, and Louis felt a slight admiration for the Laird who had been going on non stop since the night started, and the amount of ale he’s had to drink with each new clansman.

Louis found Murtagh standing in the middle of the room and joined him, stealing quick glances at the door.

« Harry’s here, » he whispered to the man.

Right then, Harry walked through the doors, dressed in full Scottish attire. One girl spotted him, and with a muffled exclamation, beckoned her friends to see. There was considerable whispering and murmuring over his appearance. Some of it was admiration for his fine looks, but more was speculation about his presence at the oath-taking. Wherever Louis looked, people were now staring at Harry.

The pipe music rose to a fervent pitch, and then abruptly ceased.

« Why is everyone so tense? » he whispered to Murtagh.

« Shh! » he urged, and grabbed him by the elbow.

« What’s going on? »

« Shh! I’ll tell you, » he repeated, and led him to a corner where no one would listen. « If Harry pledges fealty to his uncle, Colum, » he started explaining as Harry approached the head of the line. « Then he’d be in line to succeed as laird. He’d be part of the clan. »

Dougal noticed Harry right then, and Louis saw his sudden start of surprise. He stepped close to his brother and muttered something. Colum kept his eyes fixed on the man before him, but he stiffened slightly.

« But why wouldn’t Hamish become Laird? Or Dougal? » Louis asked, keeping his eyes on Harry.

« That may be the way you English do things, but it’s different here. Harry has MacKenzie blood. If the Laird came to die, the clan has a right to choose whoever they think fits best to the role. If they chose Harry to be Laird, then he would be. »

« Well, » Louis rationalised. « That wouldn’t be so bad. He’s not unfit for the role. »

« Dougal’s been holding the honor for himself when Colum dies. If Harry takes the oath, I doubt Dougal would let him breathe for long. »

Louis tensed at that.

« Can’t he just decline to take the oath? »

« Not while he lives at Leoch. He’s the Laird’s nephew, he has no choice. If before all, Harry refuses, the maids will be scrubbing his blood from the floor at Colum’s feet.»

Louis’ eyes caught Harry’s for a split second. He seemed composed. Hot as the Hall was, he wasn’t sweating. He waited patiently in line, showing no signs of realising that he was surrounded by a hundred men, armed to the teeth, who would be quick to resent any insult offered to The MacKenzie and the clan. Louis tried to ignore the pinging guilt of having brought him into such a precarious situation.

« So no matter what he does, he winds up dead? Why would he stay at the castle if he knew that? Why not just leave? »

« The lad’s got a price on his head, » Murtagh said like the answer was obvious. « It wouldn’t be long before Grimshaw or The Watch had him in irons. Leoch is the only safe place for him. _Was_ , » he corrected himself. « Damn him, if he’d only stayed hidden until the Gathering was over, Colum and Dougal wouldn’t have pressed the matter any further, » he whispered angrily.

Louis’ chest tightened. This was all his fault. If Harry hadn’t left the stables to escort him back, if he hadn’t defended him against the guards, he wouldn’t have found himself in such a position. Fuck.

* * *

His nails were digging into his bloody palms by the time Harry’s turn came. He watched him as he walked to Calum, dropping to one knee, and bowed deeply. But instead of drawing his knife for the oath like all the men had done, he rose to his feet and looked Calum in the face.

Louis held his breath, and he heard many do the same. Some of the clansmen now had their hands on their belts, ready to draw their swords, and Colum’s jaw was tight. Louis’ heart was too. Every eye in the hall was on Harry, but when he spoke next, it was as though to Colum alone. His voice was as strong and deep as Colum’s, and every word was clearly audible.

« Colum MacKenzie, I come to you as kinsman and as ally. I give ye no vow, » he said, and Louis heard a sharp intake of breath next to him. « For my oath is pledged to the name that I bear. » There was a low, ominous growl from the crowd, and some of the men started drawing their knives, but he ignored it and went on. « But I give you freely the things that I have; my help and my goodwill, wherever you should find need of them. I give ye my obedience, as kinsman and as Laird, and I hold myself bound by your word, so long as my feet rest on the lands of clan MacKenzie. » He stopped speaking and stood, hands relaxed at his sides.

Colum stared, and Dougal stared, and the whole assembly stared.

Colum stood unmoving for a moment, then picked up the silver quaich and offered it to Harry with the slightest smile. There was a lessening of the tension over the hall, and almost an audible sigh of relief in the gallery. After an instant’s hesitation, Harry accepted it with a smile. Instead of the customary ceremonial sip, however, he carefully raised the nearly full vessel, tilted it and drank. And kept on drinking. He drained the heavy cup to the last drop, lowered it with an explosive gasp for air, and handed it back to Colum as the whole crowd burst out in applause. Louis joined them heartily, his eyes never once leaving Harry as he made his way towards him, impeded only by congratulatory handshakes and thumps on the back as he passed.

« How was I? » he asked Louis with a smirk.

 _Amazing_ , he wanted to say.

« Not bad, I suppose. You managed to find a way out, after all, » he teased instead.

« For now, yeah, » Harry said with a frown. And then, offering his hand, « Care to dance? »

Louis smiled, and Harry smiled back.

He took his hand.

* * *

Given the carryings-on of the night before, Louis had expected most inhabitants of the castle to lie late the next morning. But they were obviously a tougher bunch than he had thought at first, and before dawn the castle was already buzzing with voices and shouts as the men got ready for the hunt. Even Liam and Niall seemed in perfect shape, although they kept complaining all the way through about not remembering half of the festivities, and complaining even more at Harry’s laughter when he’d heard them.

It was cold and foggy, but Liam assured him that this was the best sort of weather in which to hunt boar.

« The beasts have such a thick coat, the cold’s no hindrance to them, » he explained, sharpening a spearpoint with enthusiasm. « And they feel safe with the mist so heavy all round them—canna see the men coming toward them, you ken. »

As the sun began to streak the mist with blood and gold, the hunting party assembled in the forecourt, spangled with damp and bright-eyed with anticipation. Louis’ presence had been required as well, as a healer, and he found himself once again stuck amongst a group of mannerless brutes, all armed to the teeth as if they were readying for battle.

« It’s quite the show of force for a pig hunt, » he muttered under his breath.

« It’s a boar, » Liam, who had apparently heard him, corrected.

« Oh, I’m sorry. Quite the show of force for a _hairy pig_ hunt, » he replied.

Liam looked offended for a second but quickly pulled himself together. Far from getting angry, his face split into a smile as he walked past him.

« I take it you’ve never seen one, then. »

Louis said nothing, but his silence was confirmation enough.

* * *

Liam’s words took all their meaning less than an hour later, when Louis was hastily summoned to dress the wounds of a man who had stumbled over the beast.

« Fucking hell, » Louis said, examining the gaping wound on the man’s leg. « A _boar_ did this? What’s it got, stainless steel teeth? »

« Eh? »

« Nevermind, » Louis sighed, and proceeded to tend to his wound. « Take him up to the castle and let him rest. I’ll have to stitch that later, but I have no tools for it here, » he ordered after yanking tight the compression bandage.

Surprisingly enough, the men who had been assisting him obeyed without a word, and for a second Louis felt as if he was back in the war again. When blood was spilled, alphas and omegas and ranks stopped mattering altogether, and the only worry left was how many lives they could save.

Suddenly, a piercing scream yanked him out of his thoughts.

« What the fuck? » he exclaimed, and, grabbing an armful of bandages, he ran to the source of the scream. The fog was thicker under the branches, and he could see no more than a few feet ahead, but the sound of excited shouting guided him in the right direction.

He was almost there when he felt it. It brushed past him from the side, a dark mass moving at incredible speed, snarling loudly. It all happened very fast. First, a sharp pain in his leg, then a gunshot, the beast falling dead, and Dougal appearing behind the bushes.

« Are you injured? » he asked, looking at Louis’ bloody leg.

« Who screamed? » Louis asked instead of answering. He knew the sound of mortal wounding. His own injury didn’t matter; there was a life on the line.

They found him at the bottom of a small slope, surrounded by men. They had spread their plaids over him to keep him warm, but the cloth covering his legs was ominously dark with wetness. Blood. It trailed up to his abdomen, where the beast seemed to have impaled him.

Louis sank to his knees beside him and set to work, quickly tying a piece of cloth around his bleeding thigh while Dougal put an arm behind the victim’s shoulders, supporting him.

« Now then, Geordie, » he said, rough voice suddenly gentle. « I’ve got you, lad. It’s all right. »

« Dougal? Is’t you, man? » The wounded man turned his head in Dougal’s direction, struggling to open his eyes.

Louis followed the exchange with a slight surprise. Dougal the ruthless was speaking words of comfort, hugging the wounded man and stroking his hair.

He turned his attention back to the other wound he was to tend. The ripping tushes had laid open skin, muscles, mesentery, and gut alike. There were no large vessels severed there, but the intestine was punctured. The wound was fatal. Even in the right time, with the right instruments, he wouldn’t manage to save him.

He looked up and found Dougal staring at him, his eyes asking a silent question Louis dreaded to answer. He shook his head mutely. Dougal paused for a moment, still holding Geordie, then reached forward and untied the emergency garrot he had placed around the man’s thigh, allowing it to bleed out again, staring at Louis as if challenging him to protest. He did nothing of sorts.

A better death, perhaps, was what Dougal was giving him—to die cleanly under the sky, his heart’s blood staining the same leaves, dyed by the blood of the beast that killed him.

Louis crawled over the damp ground next to Dougal, and took half the victim’s weight on his own arm.

« You’ll be alright, » he comforted softly, feeling years of training rush back to him. « The pain will be better soon. »

« Aye. It’s better… now, » he let out. « I canna feel my leg anymore…nor my hands…Dougal…are ye there? Are ye there, man? »

Dougal grasped his hands firmly between his own and leaned close, murmuring in the man’s ear words of comfort and stories that got a few pained laughs out of him. His back arched suddenly, and his heels dug deeply into the muddy ground, his body in violent protest at his inevitable death.

« Georgie, » Louis said, voice steady, taking over the messy, heartrending, and necessary task of helping a man to die. « Tell me about your home. »

The man’s eyes widened, staring at something none of them could see, recalling memories that would be gone soon.

« It’s near a wide glen… » he began.

Dougal glanced at Louis and held Geordie’s hands tighter.

He died with a smile on his face.

* * *

The forest was very quiet. The trip up the hill to the castle was silent. Louis walked beside the dead man, borne on a makeshift litter of pine boughs, only slightly impeded by his limping leg and the sudden jolts of pain when he’d force on it too much. Dougal walked ahead, alone. As they entered the gate to the main courtyard, he caught sight of the figure of Father Bain hurrying belatedly to the aid of his fallen parishioner, and, a little further, the distinguishable silhouette of Harry. Dougal paused, waiting for Louis to pass him, then held him by the wrist, looking him over intently.

« You’ve seen men die before, » he said flatly. « By violence. »

Not a question, almost an accusation.

« Many of them, » he said, just as flatly, and freed himself.

* * *

« Are you alright? » Harry hurried to ask when Louis walked past the gates. « I heard about Geordie. »

« I’m fine. Better than him, at least. »

Harry’s eyes narrowed, studying him over.

« I was afraid I’d find you more shaken than that. »

« You think I’m insensitive? »

« Nah, t’wasn’t what I meant. I can see well you’re affected, it’s in your eyes. That you cannot hide, but for the rest, it’s as if nothing happened, » he said pensively.

Louis wondered how much Harry could see in his eyes.

« It’s not the first time I had to tend to a dying man, » he said lowly.

Harry seemed to consider the words for a moment.

« You always surprise me, Sassenech, » he finally said, a faint smile forming on the corner of his lips.

« I’d hate you to get bored of me, » Louis smiled back.

« I can’t very well see how that would happen, » he replied. Right then, his eyes fell down Louis’ pants, focusing on the bloody, torn cloth.

« You’re injured, » he frowned.

« It’s nothing, » Louis hurried, instinctively stepping his wounded leg back.

« I know what ‘nothing’ looks like, and that’s not it. »

« I tended for you for less worse and you’ve never complained. »

« It’s different. »

« Why’s that, if I may ask? Because you’re a mighty, strong alpha? »

« Nah, » Harry grinned, « It’s because I’m a Scotsman. We’ve thick heads, and thicker skin. »

« Oh. » Louis felt like an idiot.

« Come on, » Harry graciously offered. « I’ll help you to the surgery, so you can get that leg fixed. »

Louis rolled his eyes, but took the hand he offered him.

* * *

Louis noticed a spike in Dougal’s attention towards him in the following days. It was nothing flagrant, and perhaps Louis wouldn’t have caught up if he hadn’t been paying attention. It was slight glances when he thought Louis wasn’t paying attention, murmured words at Colum’s side. He wondered briefly whether Harry had told any of them of his attempt to escape on the night of the oath taking. But, as it was, the way he was treated hadn’t changed since, and his escort still consisted of either Niall or Liam; more often than not, both.

Maybe then, he started thinking, if he didn’t have much luck escaping during the Gathering, he could try at the end of it. The clansmen would all be leaving and, sure, they would be taking most of the horses with them, but there would still be enough castle horses for him to get away with one.

* * *

There were no horses out in the paddock. He pushed open the stable door, and his heart skipped a beat to see both Harry and Dougal seated side by side on a bale of hay.

They perked up at his entrance, and looked almost as startled at his appearance as he was at theirs, but quickly caught up and invited him to sit next to them.

« It’s fine, » Louis said, backing toward the door. « I’ll come back another time. »

« Nay, lad, » said Dougal. « This concerns you too. »

Louis felt a rush of both panic and betrayal at the words. He glanced at Harry, but the other man discreetly shook his head, eyes wide. So he hadn’t told him, then.

He sat down, still wary, and waited for Dougal to speak.

« I’m leaving in two days’ time, » he said. « And I’m taking the two of you with me. »

« Taking us where? » he asked, startled. He felt his heart beat faster in his chest.

« Through the MacKenzie lands. Colum doesn’t travel, so visiting the tenants and tacksmen that canna come to the Gathering—that’s left to me. And to take care of the bits of business here and there… » He waved a hand, dismissing these as trivial.

« But why me? Why us, I mean? » Louis demanded.

He considered for a moment before answering.

« Why, Harry’s a handy lad with the horses. And as to you, Colum thought it wise I should take you along as far as Fort William. The commander there might be able to… assist you in finding your family in France. »

Or to assist _them_ , Louis thought, in determining who he really was.

« All right, » Louis said after a moment, showing nothing of his real emotions. Dougal didn’t know, but he was giving him a much awaited opportunity. He wouldn’t have to escape Leoch, Dougal would get him out himself. As for finding his way back to the stones, he’d take care of it in time. For now, he could rejoice.

He looked up and found Harry staring at him intently. He’d obviously guessed where Louis’ thoughts had traveled, but said nothing.

Louis held his gaze with determination.


End file.
